Sticks and Stones
by StormLeviosa
Summary: Bruce punched Tim. There wasn't really a reason for it that Tim could see, just Bruce's anger. So he leaves. And so begins the long journey to realisation and recovery. aka. The very belated post-Batman 71 fic that got a bit out of hand. (Written for the Batman Bingo 2020)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

So if you follow me on tumblr, you'll know that I've been working on and off on this since before Christmas. This is the beginning of that post-Batman 71 fic! I'm expecting it to be about 3 chapters at the moment but it's not actually finished yet so it may be more. I wasn't actually expecting it to be more than a one-shot in the first place (oops).  
This also fills the first square on my Batman bingo card (child abuse) so that's cool.  
Content warning for child abuse (if you've read the comics you'll know why)

Chapter 1: Sticks and stones may break my bones

Tim's jaw hurt. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want his mind to work through the pain enough to realise what it meant, but there was a dull, throbbing ache that wouldn't go away all the same. He poked at it experimentally and it pulsed slightly, emanating from the epicentre all the way down his neck and most of the way up his face. It would bruise, he was sure, and questions would be asked if people (namely reporters) saw him in such a state as Timothy Drake-Wayne. Swinging across the gap between two buildings and rolling to a halt a few blocks from his robin's nest, he allowed himself a moment to think. Bruce had punched him. He couldn't explain that away. Bruce, Batman, had punched him right in the face and it hurt. Tiredness crashed over him and he sagged, rocking back on his heels as he sighed. Stopping had been a mistake. He swung across the street, and the next, hopped down a level, slipped in through the open window. Home sweet home.

Looking in the mirror the next morning was unwise. Without Alfred's expert first-aid and a cold pack to rest on his face, his jaw was an ugly mottled purple. It was clearly fist shaped. He couldn't go out like this; people would pry and ask questions and make terrible accusations. Perhaps some makeup would cover it but Tim wasn't fantastic at it despite years of practice and the stakes were too high to risk it. He couldn't think for definite what about the stakes was so much higher than normal but… well, he didn't want to read too much into that. Going to meetings like this was out of the question; he'd have to call Lucius. He could do some case work maybe but without the Bat-computer to correlate data it would be more difficult and he didn't want to go back to the cave yet, didn't want to face Bruce yet. He glanced at the mirror again. Maybe a cold pack would be a good first step.

He went out in costume that night and avoided everyone. It was only his short patrol, nothing too taxing, but it left him with plenty of time to think. He'd seen Damian from a distance, alone as usual. He rarely saw the brat in Gotham any more: normally he was off with his Titans friends or with Jon Kent in Metropolis doing whatever it was prepubescent boys did on weekends nowadays. Tim tried not to be relieved that Bruce had been nowhere near him. He considered asking if he was ok, but stopped himself. Him and Damian didn't get on at the best of times and with things how they were he couldn't be sure he wasn't tempting fate by lingering too close. He moved on. It didn't even cross his mind that his and Damian's patrols rarely met.

Tim woke at ten to someone banging on the door. This was unusual for two reasons: one, no one knew where he lived, and two, no one would want to visit him, anyway. Well, Connor would, probably Bart and Cassie, too, if they were still around. But they were all scattered to the winds, the team broken up and their headquarters empty. Which left him with the question of who the hell was banging on the door so early. Grumbling to himself, he padded to the door, trying to trick himself into looking even vaguely awake, and opened it to a grinning Jason Todd. His grin faded when he saw Tim.

"Wow, B really did a number on you, didn't he?" He waved a brown paper bag in Tim's face. "Let me in already; I brought breakfast."

'Breakfast' was a loaf of bread that Jason tore into chunks and smothered with jam and butter using a plastic spoon. Tim had offered him a knife, but he'd refused. Why he had a plastic spoon to hand was anyone's guess. He offered a chunk to Tim and he nibbled at it self-consciously. Jason had been… unavailable… for a while and even before then, they had never been exactly close. Now he had come knocking with food and sprawled across his sofa without a care. Eventually the food was gone and Jason sat up, leaning closer eagerly.

"So, what did you do to get on the big bad Bat's bad side?" Tim wanted to believe he was imagining the curiosity gleaming in his eyes, wanted to believe his older brother had simply decided to bring him breakfast and hang out, but it was not to be. He sighed.

"Nothing," he said, sitting back with forced casualness. "I told him we cared. That's it. I told him we cared and we understood."

There was sadness in Jason's expression, his mouth a grim line, and he looked older than Tim had seen him in a long time.

"He's not good at feelings is he? He's never been great at it but even I've noticed he's been bad lately."

It was true but why did he need to say it so bluntly? Bruce could be a good dad sometimes, could give comfort and help with stuff and be all the dadly things and, sure, maybe he couldn't deal with emotions very well but everyone has their faults and besides, "it's communication," Tim responded, quickly, "he taught us all to communicate through sparring; in case someone was watching. That's all it is."

"So what did it mean?" Jason replied and there was a hardness in his gaze that hadn't been there before.

"I don't know."

Tim was thinking. Thinking was a dangerous pastime and there was always the possibility that it would cause an endless downward spiral so Tim didn't tend to think too deeply about himself unless it was necessary. Now it was. Jason had given him a lot to consider and Tim wasn't sure he meant to but that was the consequence of asking your brother why your dad had punched him. He'd left a phone number on the table because Jason was dramatic like that but Tim hadn't called. He'd logged the number, saved it to his computers and his phone and his comms under a super secret file no one, not even Batgirl, could access without his permission. Definitely not Bruce. He'd spent hours trying to decode whatever that punch might have meant, consulted the Robin manual, his own notes, anything to figure it out, and find some kind of meaning. He'd come up empty. He'd wracked his brains trying to remember any other time he'd used it that wasn't theoretical and found nothing. If it hadn't been communication, if it hadn't been their little secret language of blows, then what was it? Had Bruce just gotten angry and swung at him? Was it something Tim did? It must have been. Bruce wouldn't just punch him for no reason. He'd made him angry, and Tim was very annoying, he knew, and he'd punched him to get him to stop. It was simple. He was safe so long as he did nothing stupid.

Jason came by again, this time with lunch. This time the conversation was lighter. They talked about some novel Tim had seen the movie of one time and Jason had read. Then they laughed over some stupid story about one of Jason's old exploits as Robin in the scaly pants, the costume being the main joke. Bruce was mentioned but not discussed, not regarding anything recent or serious, anyway. Then Jason lifted his hand. Tim knew, realistically, that it was a pat on the shoulder, a simple affectionate move, but something in his mind saw the hand coming and screamed danger. Tim flinched. Jason immediately put his hand down and Tim apologised, but the damage was done. There was a barrier between them now and he didn't know how to breach it.

"Tim -" Jason started.

"I'm sorry." Everything was awkward. Why did Tim make it awkward? Should he apologise again? He should. He opened his mouth.

"I swear, if the next word to escape your mouth is 'sorry' I'll put a bullet in your knee." He closed his mouth again. "Thank you. You don't need to apologise, honest. I should apologise to you." Tim squinted in confusion. "I should have known not to touch you, not after everything." If this kept up, he'd get stuck permanently staring with abject confusion. Jason looked annoyed. "Parents shouldn't hit their kids, Timbo, you should know that, what with our night job. And I know you said it was 'communication'," Jason's air-quotes were more than audible, the sarcasm was biting. "But even if it was, and I don't think it was, that's a pretty messed up method of 'communicating' with your kid." Tim bit his lip and looked at the floor. His mind was whirling again and it had only been days since the last time he'd had a deep thought about this yet here he was again.

"Would you let someone treat their kids that way when you're out in your costume?" Tim didn't know the answer to that either.

Gotham was collapsing, as always, and Tim tried to help but there was only so much he could do when Bruce wouldn't let anyone in. He left the city, headed back to San Francisco, to Young Justice, and stayed there. His bruises were gone, but they knew something had happened. No one mentioned it; Tim was relieved.

When everything had died down, he snuck back into Gotham. He went on patrol like everything was still normal and he wasn't avoiding Bruce. He tried to pretend he wasn't watching Damian when he had time. It was something he'd realised when he was with his team: Damian still lived with Bruce and if Bruce was going mad, Damian would be right in the line of fire. So he watched from a distance, used his skills from before he was Robin when he snuck around after dark to follow his idols, and kept an eye out for anything unusual. Everything seemed ok and Tim wondered whether it really had just been him, just a one off. He'd exaggerated the problem. It was just one punch.

There was another crisis to avert, and Tim came because he was the good Robin who came when Batman called him. In the aftermath, they sat on the rooftop, watching the city. It was nice.

"You've been avoiding me." That was Bruce: always straight to the point.

"I thought you needed time to get your head on straight." It was true, to an extent. He'd thought maybe Bruce needed time. Mainly it was for Tim, though, time for him to process everything, to think about the hows and whys of everything that had happened. Bruce grunted which wasn't a disagreement exactly but Tim didn't want to push his luck so he stayed silent. He saw Bruce's eyes flicker to his jaw and back to the street. The silence became heavy with things unsaid.

"You should have told me when you left. I was concerned." There was no emotion in his words but Tim knew them to be true, the way he knew everything Bruce said to be true.

"I assumed you didn't want to see me. You punched me in the face." He chuckled darkly but Bruce didn't join him. He let it die and looked away.

"I always want to know what you're up to, Tim." He still hadn't addressed the elephant in the room. Tim doubted he ever would. That was ok. Bruce cared, he wasn't angry with Tim. That was all that mattered.

He went back to the cave to log some data. It was fine, nice even; Alfred gave him some cookies and seemed glad someone appreciated them. Damian ignored him, which was normal. Bruce ignored him too, which was less normal but still fine. He left again. As he walked back to his bike, Bruce caught his arm. "You're not staying?" It seemed an innocent question, but it put Tim on edge for reasons he couldn't explain. He shook his head. "It's getting late. Your room is just how you left it." It wasn't quite an olive branch, but it was the closest Bruce came to an apology, a 'you're still welcome' broadcast in that very Bruce-like way. Tim smiled, but it felt fake and unsure, like he shouldn't be glad Bruce still cared about him.

"I know," he said, "I have some stuff to clear up that can't wait, though. See you around?" Bruce gave him a very level stare and grunted. Tim supposed that was the best he could hope for.

There was a kid in the building across from Tim who was crying. She was younger than Damian and she'd been crying off and on for hours. Tim hadn't seen anyone enter or leave the room which meant she was alone. A child left alone in Gotham at night was never a good sign: Tim would know. This wasn't even the bad part of Gotham, or at least not Crime Alley where no one was safe ever, and he wouldn't have stopped if it weren't for the case he'd been working that had led him to the upper east side in pursuit of a gunrunner. Said gunrunner hadn't left the building he'd holed up in and probably wouldn't but Tim wanted to be sure. Hence, the stake-out. And the kid was still crying. He glanced across and saw her, curled up beneath the covers, through the crack in her curtains. It had been hours. No one had been to check on her. No one had comforted her. He bit his lip. This was a terrible idea; he should be watching in case his lead left the building; he shouldn't get distracted. But the kid was alone and Tim had always had a soft spot for lonely kids. He swung across and perched on the window ledge. "Psst," he hissed, tapping on the glass. "Hey, kid, what's wrong?" The girl lifted her head but, far from looking excited at the appearance of one of Gotham's famed vigilantes, horror crossed her face. She stopped crying, but it was a small accomplishment. Tim grinned, hoping it would set her at ease. "Is everything ok? I heard you crying." She nodded her head frantically but Tim could see her trembling slightly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Are your parents home?" She nodded again and moved closer to the window.

"My dad's watching TV, but he'll be coming soon." Her voice was barely more than a whisper and Tim struggled to hear it.

"That's good. Kids shouldn't be left alone, you know." The girl scrunched up her face in distaste.

"I can look after myself, honest. It's better when he's not here." Tim was suspicious now. Things were slotting into place. A kid, crying, her dad ignoring her, a preference for being alone over parental contact. It reminded Tim of another boy, a lifetime ago, alone in a house, resolutely believing that was ok.

"I know you can. But that doesn't mean you should. Your dad should care about you and make sure you're ok. Does he do that?" There was silence. The kid stared at the floor consideringly and Tim felt something in the pit of his stomach that might have been sympathy. A voice from behind the door had Tim ducking down to the ledge below and the kid scampering back to bed.

"Katie, are you talking to someone?" Footsteps echoed, and he heard the kid, Katie, whimper. "What have I told you about leaving your window open, brat." There was a murmur in response before a shadow loomed in the window, pulling it closed. "Get back in bed before I make you," the man growled as he raised his hand threateningly. Tim had had enough. Waiting for the man to leave, he pulled up all the info he could find. Bert Summers, 43 years old, no previous criminal convictions, wife died three years previously from unexplained medical issues. Katie Summers, aged 8, attended school several blocks away. She was good at art and never got in trouble. It had been a few minutes, so he popped back up to check on her.

"Hey, Katie," he whispered, "I have to go now, but I'll come back tomorrow. It's all going to be ok. I promise." He stuck a camera and audio bug under the window screen before he left.

He went back the next night and there was a bruise on Katie's cheek like a handprint. She refused to speak to him or move from her bed but she turned her head in his direction and he saw she'd been crying. He rang CPS and she ended up with a foster family about five blocks away. He checked. She seemed happier, but she still flinched away from raised voices and was too anxious to do as she was told. She would get better, Tim knew, but it would take time and for the time being he was happy to leave her be. He scheduled to check back in on her in a month, then got busy with other matters.

The Joker broke out of Arkham and went after Robin because he's an insane psychopath. Robin didn't help matters, going after him alone and getting kidnapped. Tim rescued him and it was Damian's greatest shame. Damian ignored that all of them had been kidnapped by the Joker at least once, or that if Tim hadn't rescued him he would have died, or that Tim had defied Bruce's express orders not to get involved. They went back to the cave and Tim tried to ignore Bruce shouting as he tapped away at a report. It didn't work. He sensed rather than felt Damian storm off to the showers and Bruce returned to his normal position of hovering behind him. There was anger emanating from him and Tim tensed. He wasn't afraid of Bruce, not really, just… aware of his temper. He'd known the consequences of his actions before he left and had done it anyway. Damian was safe. He didn't regret anything. Now he just had to make Bruce see it that way.

"I know, I went behind your back," he began, "but Damian is safe now and that's what matters, right? So why don't we just call it a night?" Bruce didn't make a sound and Tim was suddenly aware of what a colossal mistake he'd made.

"Damian might be safe but you still disobeyed my direct orders and there have to be consequences for that, you know that, Tim." He sounded angry. There was a coldness to his voice that Tim had learned to interpret over the years as a flimsy mask for his inner fury. Why Bruce was so angry he didn't know. There was no real reason to be and besides…

"Everything turned out alright in the end. No one died and Joker's back in Arkham where he belongs. Your plan to hold back would have gotten Robin killed and you know it." When had he stood up? He was facing Bruce and he'd been shouting and Bruce was as stoic and expressionless as a brick wall.

"Sit down, Tim." He gathered all his resolve. This was an issue he intended to push as far as he could, for Damian's sake.

"No, Bruce. I don't get it! Do you not trust me or something? My plan worked out fine and yeah it wasn't your plan but your's wouldn't have worked anyway and if I hadn't stepped in Damian would have died. Don't you get that? Your pride could have killed your son and I know that doesn't mean much to you anymore because we've all died at least once but-" He stopped. Raised a hand to his face. Sat down, hard.

Bruce was glaring at him and he'd never seen so much anger before. His hand was still raised and as Tim struggled back up to his feet, Bruce swung it back in preparation to take another swing. He backed away but Bruce followed.

"You have no idea what it's like, to lose someone, to lose a son!" Bruce's voice cracked and Tim knew he'd lost this battle. Bruce's facade of composure had broken and now he was dangerous. Tim had been stupid and he was paying for it.

"I know, Bruce. More than anyone else, I know," he cried, desperately, and it was true but Bruce wouldn't see it.

"You know nothing!"

Blackness.

**Author's Note:**

This fic is actually really close to my heart. It's part me being angry about current comics canon, part me pouring out my own personal issues onto paper which is actually quite therapeutic in a weird way. Recently, I spoke to a therapist for the first time and she outright told me that what I'd experienced for most of my life was abuse. It was something that I'd begun to suspect but hearing it from a trained professional and not youtube videos or tumblr was a bit of a wake up call. Realising that kind of thing about your parents is hard, like really really hard. So, if you identify with anything covered in this, please talk to someone! my inbox is always open on tumblr ( storm-leviosa-fanfics) or speak to a friend, a trusted relative, a teacher, a counsellor, literally anyone you trust.

That's enough of the serious stuff! If you liked this, please leave a review (I literally live off your positive comments but I'm happy to get some constructive criticism, if you have soem you want to share). I'm always willing to yell about stuff on tumblr as well so drop me a message there if you want. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

So this was posted on AO3 about 3 weeks ago now. It's past time for me to update here as well.

Part 3 is in the works and I'm still going strong so who knows maybe it'll end up with more chapters?

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: But words will never hurt me

Running back to Young Justice seemed cowardly. All his life, he'd been taught to stand up and face his battles like a man but now he was running away. Even Alfred tsked at him disapprovingly. He stayed long enough to pack his bags and leave a note for Damian in that one pocket of the Robin suit Bruce couldn't get into. He still didn't like the kid much, but Robins stuck together and the little demon didn't have anyone else to watch out for him. Damian had to know that he could go to Tim, or Jon, or Jason, or anyone else on either of their teams, if necessary, that if he needed to he could run, too. Meanwhile, Tim would go stay with his friends, have plenty of fun, and kick some bad guy butt.

Tim loved his friends, really, he did, but they could be a bit stupid and this was no exception. He understood their reaction, he had shown up battered and bruised with a suitcase and nothing else, of course they wanted the culprit to pay. But they wanted to fight Bruce and Tim couldn't let them do that. This was Batman, the Dark Knight, the world's greatest detective, master of multiple martial arts, a couple of super-powered kids couldn't get the better of him. Besides, he was still Tim's dad. He might get angry on occasion, might sometimes think with his fists, but Tim had been annoying, Tim had argued back, Tim had disobeyed a direct order and Bruce was just worried about him and Damian, he loved them and wanted them to be safe. Young Justice didn't need to go racing in to defend him because there was nothing to defend against. Batman was a hero, not a villain. It was all just a big misunderstanding.

He went back to Gotham to tie up loose ends. He gave the company back to Bruce. He left Damian and Jason instructions on how to get into his safe houses. He packed up all the stuff he couldn't replace and had Kon fly it to San Francisco. All that was left were photos. They had accumulated dust over the years, stacked in a box beneath his bed, but now he was confronted with years of memories from an earlier time. Dick and Jason as Robin, a few shots of the city, some of the family. There was an actual family Christmas photo from the previous year, everyone but Jason present and smiling. Tears burnt his eyes and he scrubbed them away. He thought back to that Christmas: everyone was happy and healthy and getting along. He hadn't even fought with Damian that day. He thought back to breakfast with Jason, how he'd felt like a brother, like family. How could he throw that all away? Was one fight worth severing ties completely? He looked at the Bruce in the photo, smiling proudly, and remembered his face the last time they'd spoken. They were not the same Bruce. Except… Bruce a year ago had beaten Jason so badly he couldn't walk, Bruce a while before that had fought Dick over Spyral, had been cruel to all of them at least once; and once could be forgiven but twice? Three times? Four? They'd lost track over the years of how many times they'd been hurt. Bruce had always been Bruce: emotionally constipated and quick to anger, quicker still to use his fists. He couldn't stay anymore.

Tim grunted and rolled over in bed. There was a buzzing from somewhere near the ceiling and while he knew he should probably deal with whatever it was, he was so tired and he finally had time to sleep for more than two hours a night. The buzzing didn't let up. Now he was more awake, it had mutated from a slight buzzing to a piercing alarm. He heaved himself upright with a groan. What could possibly be the problem at… 2am? His comm vibrated softly against his wrist and he accepted the call without checking who it was.

"Drake." He groaned again.

"Damian, it's 2am what do you want?" Why was the brat here when he was meant to be in Gotham? His mind immediately went to anything that could have gone wrong. Someone had died; someone was injured; there had been some kind of disaster; their identities had been revealed; anything could have happened. Tim hadn't kept up with the Gotham news since he'd left.

"This is a conversation better had in person. Let me in." So, that explained the alarm. He turned it off and allowed Damian access. Standing with a stretch and a groan as his joints clicked, he made his way to the communal area. Damian would know where it was: his Titans had operated out of the building for a while when Young Justice had split. Sure enough, he was already there when Tim arrived, perched on the sofa with his hands between his knees, spine straight and rigid. Tim sat opposite him but Damian wouldn't look him in the eye.

"So what's the problem, Demon. It's not like you to come visit." He stayed staring out the window. Tim could admit that the scene was beautiful, with the city lights sparkling on the bay, but it shouldn't take that much of his attention.

"I saw the note you left for me, about your safe houses." And that explained nothing at all. "I didn't understand why you left Gotham, left father." Tim wasn't sure how to answer that. Now it was his turn to stare out at the bay.

"I… Batman… umm" How do you explain to a kid that his dad had been an asshole and he needed to get away? He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. Damian was staring at him with rapt attention and it was more than a little unnerving. "B and I had a fight, after you got kidnapped." He saw Damian stiffen; apparently that was still a sore spot. "We hadn't been getting along great and that was just the final straw, I guess." Damian frowned and opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, furrowed his brow. It was funny, watching him think before he spoke. Tim hadn't realised how much he'd matured.

"I knew all that. I heard your fight, heard what he did. I'm not sure it was the right course of action. But why leave? You're still needed back home." Oh, this was not what Tim had wanted at all. Guilt flooded him. He'd left his city behind, left a vulnerable kid behind. He would have to go back. He would have to just deal with the awkwardness and the pain and the fear. And for Damian to admit he was needed? Something must be going on.

"What's going on, Damian? Seriously, if something's wrong, you can tell me." He saw Damian hesitate and felt a twinge of fear.

"It's father. He's been… disagreeable of late. Not even Alfred can keep him in check. And the things he says, they are unpleasant and hurtful, not just to me, to everyone. No one will work out of the cave or help us on important cases. I do not wish to be alone with him anymore."

Well, fuck.

Tim wasn't a bad person and Damian was his brother, even if they hated each other, so he let him stay the night on the sofa. They had spare rooms but there was too much bad blood between them for Tim to offer them up and Damian seemed perfectly happy to stay where he was. He probably didn't intend to sleep anyway, the weirdo. Tim went back to his room, just up the corridor from Kon's and Cassie's and close enough that he was within shouting distance if there was a problem. He curled up beneath the covers in a tight ball and screwed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to sleep. It didn't work. Eventually he gave up and lay flat on his back, eyes wide open, and let his brain work. Damian feared Bruce or what he might do. Minor difference but one that needed clarifying. Damian came to him instead of anyone in Gotham or a safe house. Was there anyone else in Gotham he could go to? Normally, if there was a problem the brat went straight to Dick and if that wasn't an option (which it wasn't) he'd go to Jason. Not Tim. What was it that Damian thought Tim was better equipped to deal with than any of the others? Another detail to go over later. He hadn't appeared injured. That was good, but it didn't mean he wasn't hurt: Robins are good at hiding injuries; it's a rite of passage. He'd have to talk to him; it was the only way he'd get answers. That didn't stop him worrying though and his mind kept recycling the same scenarios over and over: Bruce raising his hand to strike Damian, Bruce shouting, Bruce furious, Damian hurt, Damian with tears in his eyes, Damian shouting right back in Bruce's face, heedless of the danger. Damian had not been taught to never question Bruce's orders (it wasn't a rule anyone had ever stuck to rigidly but it was easier to just play along even if Bruce could be a complete idiot sometimes). He'd been Robin to Dick's Batman first and Dick's Batman let Robin question everything, let him do things his own way to an extent, explained his plans in a way that made sense. Bruce's Batman ruled Gotham with an iron fist and could not stand the thought he wasn't good enough. There could be no questioning Bruce's Batman. Tim was not supposed to be the one to tell Damian this. Except… he was a big brother now and that's what brothers were meant to do, right? Help their siblings, tell them what they can get away with and when to toe the line. It was 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon and turning the water orange. It was time to get up and deal with Damian.

Damian was asleep, still in full Robin gear complete with mask and those chunky boots he had added. Tim didn't think he'd ever seen the kid asleep. It was weird. His face was softer, more child-like, and it wasn't that Tim had forgotten Damian was a child it was just that he had always seemed so much older than he was. He didn't want to wake him so he set about getting breakfast. Tim was hopeless at cooking, as were Kon and Bart. Cassie wasn't because she was perfect like that but she also wasn't at the tower. While it was just the boys, they tended to survive off takeout and anything Ma Kent sent them but Tim could handle toast without burning it. He even scrambled some eggs while he was waiting for water to boil so he could make tea. Normally he'd have coffee, just for the caffeine boost, but Damian preferred tea so that was what they would have. He laid it all out on the table and watched Bart whizz around grabbing anything he could find to snack on before skidding to a halt when he saw Damian on the sofa.

"What's he doing here?" he asked and squeaked when Damian shifted and scrunched his face up in sleep. Tim shushed him and went back to the kitchen before replying.

"He showed up last night with some questions about Gotham stuff. I'm not sure why." Bart looked troubled and it didn't suit him.

"Is it about, you know…" He trailed off, but his eyes were on the spot where Bruce had left a still fading bruise on Tim's face. Tim shrugged. They heard a thud as Damian's boots hit the floor and Bart zipped away. Time to face the music.

"Hey, Damian. I made breakfast." Damian grunted and slid onto a stool, dragging a plate of toast towards him. No eggs. He yawned widely and rubbed his eyes, the mask slipping slightly as the adhesive degraded.

"You can take your mask off, you know. Everyone here knows who we are." Damian made no acknowledgement, but he peeled off his mask. The circles under his eyes were dark and Tim wondered how long it had been since he'd slept well. They ate in silence and Damian drank his tea with only a slightly wrinkled nose at the difference in taste. It was probably the only time they'd done something like this. They'd been getting on better recently, now Damian had stopped trying to kill him every few weeks, but they were still walking on eggshells around each other, waiting for the other to snap. The silence was comfortable, more so than Tim had been expecting. He didn't want to break it.

"We need to talk about last night," he said finally, hesitantly, and saw Damian's shoulders stiffen. "You're welcome here whenever, Damian, I promise, but please give me a heads up first, ok?" Damian nodded and he gave an internal sigh of relief. "But just, why me? If Bruce was bothering you, you could have gone to anyone in Gotham, any of my safe houses, any of anyone's safe houses. So why me? Why here?" Damian didn't reply at first, just stared at the table and drank his tea.

"Because father can trace any of us inside the city. He knows where all of us are all the time. He knows where the safe houses are, our patrol routes, our bio readings, everything. Once we're out of the city, he can't track us anymore. Todd left. Grayson is…" he trailed off as his voice cracked and he looked so small and so lost, Tim just wanted to give him a hug. But Damian wouldn't appreciate it so he let him finish. "There was no one in the city for me to go to who would understand. I thought you of all people would." Tim's brain was buzzing, trying to connect the dots.

"Damian, are you scared of him?" Damian froze. There was a look that he got sometimes, Tim had noticed, when he thought he'd overstepped a line and was going to be punished. Normally it was for good reason, he'd hurt someone, or he'd broken something valuable, but sometimes it was because of the League's teachings and that had always made Tim sad. It was the look of a hunted animal, cornered. Damian had it now.

"I know he'd never hurt me on purpose. I'm his son; he…" He was babbling now, losing that iron grip on his control and really that was all Tim needed as an answer.

"I get it. He's our father and fathers don't hurt their kids." Damian nodded. Tim let his brain wind down a little, draw the conclusions it needed to, come up with a plan of action. "Damian, you have to tell Bruce where you are. He'll worry." Then, when Damian protested: "at least tell Alfred. You can even do it on speakerphone so I can talk to them as well, if you'd like." Damian got out his phone and started tapping away at a message, presumably to Bruce, and Tim relaxed slightly. Now he wasn't going to get accused of kidnapping, or have a raging Bruce on his hands, they could get down to business.

It had been a few hours and no one had disturbed them. The tower was weirdly quiet and Tim was suspicious but he wasn't going to question it. Him and Damian had been scheming, or at least discussing options, and it was nice to not have the usual interruptions. They'd made some sandwiches for lunch and were eating in silence when Damian's phone buzzed on the table. He froze.

"Is that Bruce?" Tim asked, trying to keep his tone light. Damian nodded.

"He says I must return to Gotham at once." There was dread in his voice and Tim wondered where it had all gone wrong.

"Ok. Just… don't tell him what we discussed here, alright? What did you tell him earlier, anyway?" Damian looked up from his phone to reply.

"I told him I was assisting you with a case. It's believable; you're far too incompetent not to require assistance from others." Tim laughed, relieved at the old banter.

"Brat. It's a good cover though. Tell him I have the case notes if he asks." Damian nodded and stood to leave. Tim was about to ask how he'd gotten all the way to San Francisco in the first place but he was out the window before he could even open his mouth. Crazy kid.

Tim called Jason. It was that secret number he'd given him all those weeks ago and, as far as he knew, he was one of a select few who knew it in the first place. He knew it was early evening in Gotham, and he knew Jay was normally awake. It went to voicemail. Trying not to be disappointed, Tim left a message.

"Hey, Jay, it's me. The demon brat showed up last night, said you'd skipped town. I was wondering if you'd like to catch up sometime? Just let me know. I guess you're busy so I'll talk to you later." He hung up. That was a fruitful conversation. If he was honest, he felt at a bit of a loose end here with no case work and no missions. He considered fabricating a case file for if Bruce asked what Damian had wanted, but it wasn't like he needed to hand over Young Justice files, anyway. His comm buzzed. Jay's number flashed across the screen and he picked it up eagerly.

"Replacement, I got your message. I was helping Roy out with a couple things, didn't hear my phone. What did Damian want? It's not like him to go to you of all people."

"He wanted to talk about, you know, family stuff. I think he's struggling all alone over there. By the way, in case you were considering heading back to Gotham soon, don't. Apparently B's got everyone tracked." Jay's long drawn out 'fuck' was warranted, Tim thought.

"Well, Roy's taking Lian camping for the weekend. I've got the place to myself if you want to come visit." Tim considered it. On the one hand, he had a responsibility to his team and if Damian came back and he wasn't there, he didn't know what would happen. On the other, he was going stir crazy with nothing to do.

"Sure," he said, already mapping a route up the coast. "I'll bring pizza?" Jason started to protest, but he cut him off. "I owe you one, remember? It's no big deal." He shut down the computer and stood up. If he left now, he'd get to Star by nightfall. "Where should I meet you?" Jason rattled off the address of an apartment complex and told him he'd need to be buzzed in. That was fine.

"I'm gonna leave now. I'll let you know when I'm close." He hung up and grabbed his bag from the floor by his bed. He'd barely unpacked since he'd arrived, just taking out the clothes he needed and then dumping them in the wash when they got dirty. It still had a few pairs of socks and underwear and a couple of t-shirts. That was the most he'd need. He chucked in his toothbrush and antibiotics, scribbled a note telling everyone he'd gone for the weekend and stuck it to the fridge with a tacky old fridge magnet. Then he hit the highway.

Tim loved the open road. He loved his bike (though his skateboard would forever remain in his heart) and the wind rushing past his face. It was the closest feeling to flying you could get while still on the ground. The two-hour trip wasn't anywhere near long enough for him. The apartment building Jason directed him to wasn't any different to the ones on either side, or any other in the city really, and he stood outside waiting to be buzzed in, pizza boxes leaving a warm grease patch on his arm. To anyone else, he'd probably look like a delivery boy. The electronic lock beeped and he hurried inside, taking off his cap and shaking out his hair. It was getting long again but he couldn't be bothered to get it trimmed. Jason opened his door when Tim knocked and took the pizza from him.

"Pepperoni? Nice," he said, cracking open the lid. He let Tim in and locked the door behind them. Roy's apartment was nice, nowhere near as messy as Tim's nest back in Gotham or the few of Jason's safe houses he'd been in. No guns. No weapons. It was very homely. They sat on the couch and grabbed a slice of pizza each. Jason scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten properly in days and moaned. "So good." Tim let his mouth quirk up into a smile. There was an action movie playing on the TV, the volume down low. It felt so normal. Like they were two brothers just chilling together with pizza and a movie; like they weren't here to discuss their dysfunctional family. They watched the movie. It was already part way through so neither of them had a clue what was happening plot-wise but they knew enough about explosions and fights to have a laugh at the actors' expense. Jason pulled apart every inaccuracy without remorse and with such deadpan humour that by the time the credits rolled, Tim's stomach hurt from laughing so hard. It was a good feeling. The news came on. Jason changed the channel. He asked when Damian had left. Tim told him about their discussion. Jason was frowning. Another movie came on: some animated disaster with talking animals. Tim didn't understand kids movies anymore.

"So B's being a grade-A asshole and no one'll work with him, like that's new." Tim shrugged. He knew Jason had opinions about Bruce and his attitude. "And Damian wants you or someone there to be a buffer between him and Bruce." He nodded. "What about Cass?"

"She's in Hong Kong," he replied.

"Steph?"

"Off doing the college thing. Why would she help anyway? She gets on with Bruce even worse than we do." Jason snorted, but it was true. Steph could get on with pretty much anyone but Bruce's controlling tendencies grated on her and she was too stubborn to know when to let things slide. It was a recipe for disaster.

"You're not gonna go back are you, Tim?" Tim hesitated. There was a part of him, the selfish part, that just wanted to stay with his team, just hang around the tower and save the world and play video games on their downtime. Maybe he could even go get a college degree if he had the time. The part of him that had been Robin, then Red Robin, that was loyal to his family and wanted so badly to help out and be useful, wanted to go back. And Damian needed help. He didn't even like the kid and god knows the kid hated him but he still needed help and if Tim was the only one who could give it…

"Someone has to look out for Damian." Jason shook his head and chuckled darkly.

"The kid is a trained assassin who's actually murdered people. I think he can survive until we sort this out." Tim was sceptical. Jason hadn't seen him that morning, small and scared and more scared to admit either of those things. He didn't say that though. The selfish part of him had won. They decidedly had not come up with a plan, but Jason cracked open a beer like they'd accomplished something, anyway. He offered one to Tim. Tim wasn't twenty-one yet. He turned it down.

They didn't speak for a long time. They let the movie on the TV run through but didn't really watch it. Tim knew Jason didn't like the idea of either of them going back, but something had to be done. Except… Jason was right too, in a way. Damian was a trained assassin and he was perfectly capable of defending himself. They all were. And didn't he deserve to spend time with his father? He'd left the League for this life, for Bruce. He deserved to get the chance to learn from him and get to know him in the same way that the rest of them had. If Tim stepped in and tried to take that from him, it would ruin all their progress. Damian didn't try to kill him anymore. Would he still be able to say that if they confronted Bruce? No, he would wait and see what happened. If Damian needed help, he knew where to go.

"You know, Bruce was alright to me as a kid. Dick, too. I don't know what happened." Jason knew what happened, they all did, but neither of them wanted to say it.

"Yeah. Sometimes he was more like my dad than my actual dad, even while he was still alive." It was a sad truth, but one that Tim had been ready to admit for a while now. His dad had gotten better once he'd stopped travelling all over the world on a whim and tried but he hadn't known what he was doing and it showed. Bruce had been good to him, as a mentor and a foster father. He wasn't sure when that relationship had fallen apart. Jason chuckled.

"I hit him with a tire iron when we first met and he still took me in." Tim nodded like he hadn't heard the story a dozen times before. Jason in general was an untouchable topic in the manor but Alfred was fond of telling it occasionally and Dick sometimes brought it up when a street kid was spunky enough to not run away from Batman like he should.

"He used to send me home with Alfred's cooking after training when I was home alone." Tim missed those days, missed Alfred and the casual affection of his Robin days. He liked this kind of discussion. The kind with no sudden realisations or sadness. He liked being able to banter with his brother and talk about the old days when life was good.

"Oh man, Alfred. He taught me how to cook. Bruce tried to help and almost blew up the kitchen." They laughed together. Each of them had a story about Bruce's terrible cooking: it was good to know that he wasn't perfect. The back and forth continued, little stories that made up their childhood with Bruce. Jason told him about the time he was sick and Bruce had stayed off patrol to watch movies with him while he recovered. Tim wasn't sure he could remember Bruce taking a break without being forced by Alfred. But the story reminded him of another illness, another time.

"Do you remember, a few years ago, when Gotham had that crazy mega-virus? The Clench?" Jason nodded slowly. He hadn't been in Gotham at the time but news spread fast and everyone had known that Gotham was dying. "We were all working together to stop the spread, to find a cure, and there were riots and it was terrifying and then I got sick." Tim watched as Jason's eyes widened and his breath caught. He hadn't known that, apparently. "I'd been living with my dad but I couldn't go back to him, obviously, so I stayed in the cave and Bruce had Alfred look after me while -"

"Hang on, Bruce just left?" Tim nodded. "Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? Leaving your sick, possibly dying kid with the butler while you go off on some mad crusade against crime?"

"I think we can all agree Alfred is far more than just a butler."

"Of course; Alfred's awesome. But Tim, you were dying. You were in terrible pain. I've heard the stories about what the Clench does and it's…" he trailed off. "Bruce should have been there. That's what a dad does."

"He wasn't my dad then, not really. More like my boss, I guess, or a supervisor maybe." Why was this distinction so important to him? He wasn't sure. But Jason had to know it wasn't Bruce's fault, had to understand sacrifice for the sake of the mission. "Besides, if he hadn't left he never would've found the cure and I definitely would've died. It all worked out for the best." That wasn't the right response, apparently. Jason buried his head in his hands and groaned.

"You're missing the point," he began and Tim snapped right back.

"No, you're missing the point. Bruce has done everything for us! And yeah, maybe he's not great at dealing with emotions or being a dad but he's all we've got and we should help him, support him, not talk shit about him behind his back!" He stopped, breathing hard, and sat down. He wasn't sure when he'd stood, or when he'd started shouting but now it was done, he felt shame rise in him. Jason didn't look angry though, just pitying. It grated on him.

"Such a good, loyal little soldier. He's got you right under his thumb." He shook his head and Tim remembered the words on the plaque in the cave. 'A good soldier'. Jason had more reason than most to be angry about loyalty to Bruce, he supposed. There was a long period where he'd whole-heartedly believed that it was loyalty to Bruce that had got him killed. Jason stood and gathered the pizza boxes to throw out.

"You ever been scared to tell him something?" Tim blinked. Had he? He'd certainly lied to him a lot, left a lot out when talking to him. It wasn't because he'd been scared though! Or at least he didn't think it was. But then again, how many times had he lied about injuries so Bruce wouldn't bench him? Why had he invented an entire uncle just so he wouldn't have to go live with Bruce and could still be independent? Every time he avoided the cave, avoided Bruce and lied about it. Had he been scared all this time? He wasn't sure. Jason was back and he tapped Tim's shoulder as he sat down, bringing him back.

"The answer's yes, by the way. I don't know a single kid who hasn't been afraid to tell their parents something. The real question is whether that fear was justified." He was watching Tim with a careful frown, waiting for… something. Tim didn't want to think too much about what he was waiting for. He didn't want to think about his question either. Why had he been scared to tell Bruce the truth? It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong most of the time. Sure, Bruce would have benched him over injuries; he would have been upset and angry about Tim lying to him. But why was he afraid of that?

"If I made a mistake," he began. "Bruce wouldn't have let me be Robin anymore. If I wasn't Robin, I wasn't being useful and I'd have to go back home." Jason nodded.

"You thought if you made a mistake he wouldn't love you. He'd cast you out just like me." He was right, Tim realised. All he'd wanted as a kid was a family that stayed and Bruce was the closest he'd got to that.

"Parents are meant to love their kids unconditionally, Tim. If he was really a good parent, he'd love you no matter how many mistakes you made." Tim didn't think that had ever been true. He must have looked sceptical because Jason rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Timbo did no one ever teach you this shit?" When Tim didn't reply, he stood up and began to pace. "This is so not my job. Why me?" he muttered angrily and ran a stressed hand through his hair before sitting down again.

"Look, when I shot Penguin and Bruce beat me up so bad I couldn't walk and kicked me out of Gotham, did I deserve it?" Tim shook his head. He'd always thought that punishment had been too extreme. "He came and found me a few months later, told me he loved me but sometimes I needed a good ass-kicking. Does that sound like something a good parent would say?" Tim shook his head again. He hadn't known about that discussion. It did sound like Bruce though. "If he was a good parent, he'd have helped me out when I needed him, not tossed me aside. It's why I hated you so much when I first came back: you were the replacement." Tim shuddered at the old nickname. He was used to it now, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to be reminded.

"Batman needed a Robin," he said with a shrug.

"Yeah well that's a whole other level of fucked up and we're definitely coming back to it but for now let's talk about how he's an abusive asshole." Tim froze.

"He's not." He couldn't say the word, couldn't assign it to Bruce in his mind.

"Ok, sure, it's totally normal for a parent to beat up their kids and make them believe that if they make mistakes, they're worthless." Jason had always been sarcastic but now it dripped from his every word and Tim hated it. He wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend none of this had ever happened. He couldn't let an accusation like this lie. He had to refute it, prove it wasn't true. He couldn't.

**Author's Note:**

Thanks so much for all your response!

If you liked this give it a review or a favourite! You can also check out my tumblr where I've been posting stuff for Batfam Week (but I'm very behind now oops) storm-leviosa-fanfics


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

So I kind of forgot to update this for ages so you're getting 2 in one day (thank you AmberDragon3 for favouriting/following so I got an email about it, otherwise I never would have remembered).

Currently expecting the finished product to be around 6 chapters. I'm midway through chapter 5 at the moment and it's going to be at least one chapter after that.

We're currently still on lockdown here (even though Boris is an idiot who won't explain what the current changes actually mean so people are confused about whether we are or not.) I do have exams next week though so the next update won't be for at least a week or two.

Huge thanks to everyone who left a review or favourited/followed this! Let me know what you think!

A Heart and Mind That's Tender

Tim was at his desk working (always working) when the world ground to a halt around him. Everything was fuzzy and there was a ringing in his ears. He couldn't feel his fingers on the keyboard, his feet tapping against the floor. His mind whirled around and around. Bruce was abusive. Bruce was abusive. Bruce, Batman, abused his children. Batman, the hero who had saved countless lives, had saved Tim and Dick and Damian and (tried to save) Jason so many times, abused his children. How? How could this happen? It was inconceivable ('you keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means' his brain not-so-helpfully finished), insane, absolutely unthinkable. And yet it was true. His brain was stuck on an endless loop, like a buffering video, unable to move past this one terrible thought.

"Tim! Hey, Tim. You in there, dude?" Kon had apparently been there for a while. Tim had zoned out. Stupid. "Are you ok?" He shook himself out of it and pasted on a smile.

"Yeah. I'm… I'm fine." Kon looked at him, head tilted, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

"No, you're not. Come on, we're having team movie night." He pulled out his phone and a moment later Tim felt his buzz with a message to the group chat: 'team movie night be here ASAP.' Bart was already in the lounge when they got there, arms piled high with snacks. Tim wasn't paying attention to the chat other than to glance at it absently. Cassie had asked who was picking pizza. It was an old custom for them: whenever someone was struggling, team movie night was called and the sufferer chose pizza. Tonight it was Tim's turn. It was never Tim's turn. Cassie arrived at the same time as the pizza. Tim had been nice and ordered everyone one of their favourite flavour, and Bart an extra five. They curled up together on the couch, more a tangled pile of limbs than four separate people, and stared at the blank screen.

"What are we watching, Tim?" He shrugged and let his head fall further onto Kon's shoulder. "Happy or sad?" He shrugged again. He didn't feel much like either. His brain was still stuck in that constant loop: Bruce was abusive. Vaguely, he knew that he should focus on this, on watching the movie Bart had stuck in the DVD player, but he couldn't. He picked at his pizza, trying to cling to the sensation of greasy cheese and blistering hot tomato sauce. It was the second time he'd had pizza in two days. Bruce would be disappointed in him. But Bruce was abusive. And he'd come full circle. The weight of Kon's arm grounded him and he dragged his mind back to the present. Movie. Little blue alien monster. Girl with no parents. Older sister caring enough for both of them. 'Ohana means family and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.' Kon squeezed his shoulder and Tim burrowed further into the cuddle pile to hide the tears burning his eyes. This was his family. The ones who would never leave him behind.

He decided to wait for Damian to come to him. If Bruce really was being awful, then Tim calling would not help matters. If everything was fine, then Damian wouldn't want to speak to him, anyway. It did not, however, take long for Damian to come crashing into his life again. And again it was a stupid time in the morning. He had obviously come after patrol because he was in civvies with just a mask and it was almost 7am. Aka time for Tim to be sleeping. He didn't even knock. But that was normal for a vigilante. Tim yawned and blinked at him. He'd literally just got back from another crazy world-hopping adventure, and he really didn't need this tonight… this morning… whatever you wanted to call it. Damian was wide awake, of course. The kid wasn't human; he was sure.

"Coffee," he said, with all the clarity of a child's scribbled artwork. He got up and stumbled to the kitchen. Damian followed, and Tim could feel his sneer. The coffee pot gurgled in the background like a happy baby as Tim slumped into a chair. Damian stayed standing.

"Let me guess, I'm needed in Gotham?" Damian nodded, but his eyes flicked around the room. He was making sure they weren't being watched, Tim realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Nothing has improved," he began carefully. "Except now Pennyworth has been on the receiving end of his wrath as well." Well, that didn't bode well. This was getting out of control now; they needed a plan and fast.

"Do you have somewhere safe to go?" he asked. "Somewhere closer than here, anyway." Damian looked at him incredulously, like something he'd said rivaled the most idiotic statements ever stated.

"My mother wants me dead, Grayson doesn't remember who I am, Todd has gone off-grid, everyone else in Gotham hates us, my team has no headquarters because you've brought it back into use for your own. No, Drake. I am alone in this but for you, unfortunately." Shit. This was bad. This was monumentally bad. This was worse than that time he'd voluntarily got himself kidnapped, the time his own evil future self had come back in time to kill everyone, the time he'd been trapped outside time by Mr Oz. Think, Tim. Plan time. This was what he was good at, making contingency plans for every scenario. Why didn't he have one for this? Stupid, selfish brain. He tried to think of something comforting to say, something that would make Damian stop biting his lip and looking like he was one wrong word from bolting out the door. What came out of his mouth instead was…

"Ummm, wow. That's umm yeah, I hadn't thought of that." Stupid brain, not cooperating. He gulped down his coffee without adding anything and almost choked on the bitter taste. Caffeine. He needed caffeine. Maybe then his brain would work. Damian had crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Typical. Just as helpful as always, Drake." Tim bit back the automatic retort. Now wasn't the time for snapping. Now was the time for planning. What could they do?

"I'm going to call Jason, see what he suggests." That was a plan. Jason was an adult; he'd know what to do. He scrolled through his contacts and pressed to dial without looking. The phone rang for a long time.

"Hello?" Tim had made a horrible mistake.

He pulled the phone away from his ear as if burnt.

"Shit," he hissed, then gulped and covered his mouth. He knew Damian heard worse on the average patrol night, but swearing in front of a kid still felt wrong on so many levels. He tried to control his racing heart.

"Hi, Dick… Ric. Sorry. Umm how's it going?" This was going to be so awkward. Could the floor open up and swallow him please?

"I'm alright, er it's Tim, right?" Tim nodded, then realised he was speaking down a phone and stopped.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm Tim. Sorry, wrong number, bye." It came out all in one jumbled breath, and he wasn't at all surprised when Dick responded.

"Hey, wait, kid. Is everything ok? What's up?" Curse Dick and his bleeding heart. But then again, maybe he could help them. He was as unbiased as it was possible to be without involving outsiders. He chewed his lip.

"Maybe it's better if Damian explains," he said. He could pass off the phone to the demon, let him deal with it. Damian heard his name and looked up with suspicious eyes.

"What have you done this time, Drake?" Tim cringed and passed over the phone. He saw the exact moment Damian realised who was on the other end, saw the myriad emotions cross his face. The conversation seemed to be going well, though. Damian was answering questions and looked more animated than Tim had ever seen him. That was the Dick-effect, though; he'd always made Damian smile when no one else could. Damian nodded solemnly, and Tim thought it was weird that they'd all picked up on that odd trait: nodding down the phone as if the other person could see them.

"Tt. Thank you, Grayson. Goodbye." He handed the phone back to Tim.

"Hey?" He wasn't a hundred percent sure Dick was still on the line but he was and that was… good, he supposed.

"So, Bruce is being Bruce, huh?" Tim sighed and that was all the confirmation Dick needed apparently because he started listing all the reasons Damian had to leave and all the reasons he, Dick Grayson, couldn't help.

"Well, he can't keep coming here. I'm in San Francisco, Dick; it's a six-hour flight, one way and he can't keep 'borrowing' the Bat-plane." It wasn't something he'd thought too much about, beyond a cursory 'how's the kid even getting here?' the first few times it had happened. Looking at it sensibly, he really couldn't let it continue. Even if Bruce didn't object to Damian taking his plane, it was way too long a journey to manage alone. "At least you're only an hour or so away. He could easily come to you on weekdays or without Bruce knowing, if he needed to." He heard Dick sigh.

"If he shows up here and it's an emergency, I won't turn him away," he conceded and Tim's heart did a funny little jump. "But, Tim, you have to figure something out. Something long term. He can't just keep running to other people when it gets too much; he needs stability. Even I know that."

"I know," Tim replied, and he meant it. He would try to solve this, for Damian and himself. This was his job, to solve problems, and he was good at it.

"For what it's worth, you sound like you're a good brother to him. I'm proud of you." Tim's eyes did not fill with tears at his words. It totally wasn't what he'd been longing to hear ever since everything had gone down between him and Dick all that time ago. His voice was choked when he responded.

"Thanks, Dick."

"It's Ric, kiddo. Just keep being there for him, ok? You'll figure it out."

"Ok," he whispered and the phone clicked as Dick hung up.

Tim decided to go back to Gotham. He didn't want to, wished he could keep hiding out with his team in San Francisco, but Damian needed him. Damian had no one else. He just wanted to be a good brother. Maybe he could help Bruce; it was his fault everything had gone wrong after all. If he'd just kept his mouth shut… but no. That wasn't true. He reminded himself of what Jason had told him: it wasn't his fault; Bruce was abusive. Even so, he had to go back, had to help somehow. Damian didn't deserve to have to deal with this by himself, and Tim had experience with Bruce in a bad mood. It would be just like when he first started as Robin, back when Bruce was grieving and raining pain and terror on anyone who so much as looked shifty. And maybe it would be miserable, maybe he'd get in the way or be annoying and face the consequences, but it would be worth it if it kept Damian a little safer. He packed a bag and caught the next plane back to New Jersey.

He let Alfred take his coat when he got to the manor. The sky was just as grey and dreary as always, and he missed the warmth of California. Even the mist there had seemed brighter. He hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder and began the long trek up the stairs. Bruce was out at work, he knew, and Damian was at school. He had time. His old room was bare, just as he'd left it when he cleared out his things. The bed was perfectly made with hospital corners and crisp sheets; Alfred had obviously hoped he'd return. Tossing his bag on the bed, he took out his phone and debated whether to text Jason, let him know where he was. He decided against it. Jason wouldn't approve and he could do without the chastisement. There were only a few hours until dinner when everyone would be home and he passed the time playing games by himself. Part of him felt bad for not talking to Alfred - he deserved to be appreciated by someone - but still he hid in his room. When the clock struck six, he made his way downstairs to the dining room. Alfred had laid out an awesome spread, as usual, with something for everyone. Tim thanked him as he sat down. He ignored that Bruce was there. It was rude, he knew, but it was easier than making conversation with him.

That night Tim dreamed. He had spent weeks trying not to think at night, not to let the present slip into his unconscious mind, because he knew what would happen if he was allowed to dream. But that night he dreamed, and his dreams were more like nightmares. Fragments flickered through his mind, fleeting and fuzzy. Everything was out of order and nothing made sense. Bruce raised his hand in anger before he wrapped him in a hug and told him he was loved. Damian begged for his help before telling Tim he, as Bruce's blood son, was better than Tim, more worthy. Dick turned his back, Jason had a knife at his throat, his dad was lying in a pool of blood and Bruce was admonishing him, over and over people left him. He wasn't good enough, wasn't fast enough, wasn't smart enough. Wasn't enough. The flashing images stopped. He was small again, in that lonely old house he'd grown up in. The furniture was covered in white sheets to stop the dust and everything was still. Tim made no sound. He moved like a ghost through the empty rooms. The air was charged with something, as if it could explode at any moment. It put Tim on edge. A shiver ran down his spine. Tim's room was exactly as he remembered it being in the early days before him and his dad had moved: bookshelves full, his desk cluttered, bed unmade. Bruce sat on it and looked at the mess. Tim couldn't read his expression. "I taught you better than this, Tim," dream-Bruce said. "You know not to leave your stuff lying around." Dream-Bruce picked up a forgotten sock and his face stayed just as smoothly impassive as it always did but Tim could feel the distaste rolling off him. "You obviously can't cope on your own." He gestured to the room, but it flickered between the room of his childhood and the room in his nest and his room at the tower, all the places that had been home and all the places he'd let junk accumulate. His room at the manor was always spotless. He had appearances to keep. "How do you expect to save other people when you can't even look after yourself?" Tim couldn't speak. He was choking, his chest filling up with nothingness, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. "I should never have let you be Robin." The dream shattered.

That night Tim woke up. He had spent weeks trying not to think about everything, trying not to dream, because he knew what would happen if he did. Tim woke up drenched in sweat and trying hard to take in all the air in the room even though his lungs refused to work. His heart raced. His fingers twitched and trembled. His toes curled and his muscles clenched. He strained his ears but heard no sound from outside. Good. He focused and tried to breathe slowly, to calm his racing heart and still his twitching fingers. It took several minutes. Shakily, he went to the window and breathed in the night air. His jaw ached from clenching it so he didn't scream. It had been a long time since a dream had made him scream, between there being no one to hear it or no one to care there was little point in wasting the breath. The sweat cooled on his skin and he shivered, closed the window, crept back to his bed and his sweat-soaked sheets that Alfred would no doubt wash in the morning. He curled up underneath the covers in the smallest ball he could make, limbs tucked in and face buried in his pillows. That night Tim tried to sleep again.

He knew he couldn't stay. He knew that the tentative peace couldn't last, that something would go wrong and Bruce would shout and maybe hit him again and he would run all the way back to San Francisco because that's the kind of coward that Tim was. Despite his worries, he dragged his spare Red Robin suit out of his locker and went on patrol, carefully mirroring Batman and Robin's route, listening in on their comms. Nothing happened. Bruce was being careful, Tim thought. He knew that they knew what was up. He dropped in on Oracle in the Clocktower because Dick had always said Babs could solve any problem. She told him she'd been told pretty soundly that it was none of her business and she wasn't getting involved. She gave him the number of an abuse hotline they'd worked with before and Tim laughed in her face. He felt bad about it after.

In the cave that night, he watched Bruce and Damian carefully manoeuvre around each other. They did not speak; they did not touch. There was no praise or admonishment, no proud hair ruffle or angry slap. It was cold, clinical, and Tim hated it. Even on their worst nights, when B was furious at him, the cave had never been this silent. It sent chills up his spine. He could feel the tension in the air about to break. This was why he was here: to stop the eruption before it began.

"Hey, B," he called and Bruce turned towards him, face set and stern. "Could you look over these case notes for me? A second pair of eyes never hurt." He tried not to notice the relief in Damian's face that he could escape upstairs unnoticed.

"So, what is it you needed me to check?" Bruce was suspicious, he could tell, but he'd ride out this deception for as long as possible.

"I was looking over the Turner case, you know the missing kid from fourth and Mason? The MO is similar to that kidnapping a few years back, so I looked back over the case notes, but there're some bits missing." Bruce grunted and Tim was suddenly very aware that Bruce had been the one to write those case notes and Bruce was the one in charge of the Turner case and Tim was criticising his handling of it. This had the potential to end very badly.

"What do you think is missing?" Tim hadn't realised how tense he was and rolled his shoulders.

"Not much really, just it doesn't say the exact time of the kidnapping so I can't tell if it matches and there's no up-to-date data in the system of Turner's arrest record."

"The time of kidnapping is in the GCPD report, which is cross-referenced with ours, which you would know if you'd actually checked all available sources. I taught you better than this, Tim." This was more like the Bruce Tim knew, cold and calculating and with no margin for error. He chewed on his bottom lip and said nothing.

"The arrest record is up-to-date as far as we can get it. Their system updated over a year ago but you haven't synced it with our records yet." He was right. None of this was Bruce's fault. Tim hadn't checked the GCPD system and he hadn't synced the records to make sure they were all up-to-date. This was meant to be his thing, his specialty, and he'd failed. He looked at the floor.

"I'll do it now," he said quietly. "But, Bruce, it's not actually my job to update all your computer stuff. You know that, right?" He thought maybe he'd overstepped a line when Bruce stopped and turned back to face him.

"Well, it's not like anybody else does it. And besides, you might as well make yourself useful, before you disappear again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

Second update of the day!

We are now up to date (as of May 11th). If you want early updates, check out my tumblr ( storm-leviosa-fanfics) because I always seem to remember to post there but not here? I don't know why but sorry.

Huge thanks to everyone who interacts with this story in any way. Love you all! Stay safe!

Hope Seemed Like the Summer Birds

They had a good day, and then another, and then another, until Tim thought maybe everything was back to normal. He didn't stop being on edge and watchful, didn't stop tensing when Bruce's hand touched his shoulder or ruffled his hair, but he wasn't constantly expecting to fight. They even had a family movie night. It had been Damian's idea, surprisingly; a way to wind down after a long week of patrol. They'd slumped down on the sofas and beanbags in the den with huge bowls of popcorn, courtesy of Alfred. Tim didn't know what movie Damian had picked. When he saw the main menu come up, he was sure Bruce hadn't known either.

"Umm, Damian. Are you sure?" Damian scoffed.

"Tt. Of course it would be you that can't handle a film about rabbits, Drake. And yes. I have read the book; I know how it ends. I am more than prepared for this." Tim saw Bruce grin quickly before his face returned to his normal impassive mask. He pressed play.

An hour in, Tim's popcorn was all gone and the film was halfway done. He cast his eyes sideways to inspect Bruce's bowl, still almost full. Bruce always ate his popcorn slowly instead of munching through it in the first hour like the rest of them. Snaking out a hand, Tim grabbed a few pieces and retreated to his side of the sofa. He caught Damian's eye and winked. Never one to refuse a challenge, Damian tried it himself. Tim was pretty sure Bruce knew what they were doing: stealing popcorn was a regular occurrence on movie night, when they happened. Dick had invented this particular challenge back when Tim was still settling into his role as Robin, and now it was a staple of family get-togethers. He leant over and snuck another handful. Damian waited a minute or two and copied. This was the fun kind of challenge: egging each other on to see who could sneak the most popcorn without Bruce noticing (and Bruce never noticed, or at least pretended not to). It was a distraction from the brutal on-screen deaths of all those rabbits, too.

It was, of course, Damian who started sniffling first. He could never stand to see an animal suffer and this movie was full of it. Tim could never handle it either and was carefully not making a scene while still letting tears fall. He didn't want to make Bruce's shirt wet. Over the course of the movie, they had slowly shifted closer and closer to each other until Bruce had his arm around Damian, who was leaning on his shoulder, and Tim was pressed against his other side. It was nice to be physically close while they were sad. Tim felt comforted in a way that he hadn't been for a long time. They fell asleep like that, curled up next to each other on a sofa that was just a little too small.

Him and Bruce continued with their weird dance until Tim got hurt on patrol. It wasn't serious, just a thug who got lucky with their gun, but he hadn't told Bruce and so he hadn't told Alfred and telling no one about injuries was a crime of equal severity to excessive violence. He had wrapped the injury alone, in the privacy of his own little changing room, and conveniently forgot until he tore the stitches in a particularly involved sparring session and Bruce noticed the blood. Bruce lost it, of course. He shouted and stormed but Tim shouted right back and he was the one in the wrong here; he knew the rules when he broke them. It was understandable. Tim should consider himself lucky he had a dad who worried about him the way Bruce did. And Bruce worried. A lot. Tim knew this; it just didn't feel like it when Bruce chewed him out for not paying enough attention to his surroundings and banned him from the cave even after Alfred patched him up again. He knew Bruce did it out of love, but it sure didn't feel like it when the look on his face said 'I'm disappointed in you' and the sound of his voice said 'I'm angry that you failed me.'

Bruce had told him to stay at home, but Tim knew the mission came first. It had been over a week since his injury; he was perfectly fine and if Bruce said otherwise, he was overreacting. There wasn't a lot happening if he was honest with himself. This late at night, even the most tireless criminals had gone home. He was out in costume though, perched on a roof and listening to Bruce punch pickpockets (and where he'd found pick-pockets to punch at 3am Tim did not want to know) when Jason called. He scrambled to mute his comm before he picked up. It might be a one-way comm channel but it still felt weird listening to two lines at once and he couldn't put it past Bruce to realise he was listening in and backtrack it to listen to Tim instead. He knew how this conversation was going to go and there was no way he wanted Bruce to hear it. He braced himself for Jason's anger when he accepted the call. Jason didn't beat around the bush.

"So, you went back." He was trying not to sound angry, Tim could tell. Curling in on himself, he tried not to sound too pathetic when he responded.

"I had to. Damian needed me." It wasn't a good enough excuse. He and Jason had talked about this exact topic at length, had decided Damian was strong enough on his own. Or, well, Jason had decided and Tim hadn't argued. But really it wasn't fair to leave a kid with someone you knew was a bad parent, even a kid as capable as Damian. Jason of all people should know that. Yep. That was Jason groaning.

"Of course you did. How is it, then? What's the damage?" Tim paused before answering. He didn't know quite how to describe it. How do you explain the feeling of waiting for the end to come when it never does, of everything being not great, perhaps, but not as terrible as you feared it would be?

"It's… weird," he began. "It's like he's pretending nothing happened so we can go back to normal or like maybe it all got blown out of proportion in the first place. He's being careful, protective, you know? I keep waiting for him to lash out again, but he doesn't."

"That's good, I guess." Jason didn't sound relieved. Tim wondered if he was picking at his nails like he did when he was nervous.

"Yeah. It's like I'd built him up to be some big bad scary guy, but really he's just… Bruce. Just the normal guy who's a little on the controlling side. He hasn't really lost his temper once the whole time I've been here, and I've been able to distract him from snapping at Damian the few times it's looked like he might, too. Like, yeah I got hurt once and when he found out, he yelled a bit but he's been all right, really. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding, Jay. He's not, you know… abusive." He whispered the last word, barely willing to say it aloud. "He was just having a hard time. Happens to the best of us." He tried to sound chipper instead of questioning, hopeful instead of stressed. He wasn't sure if it worked. Then he heard Jason facepalm.

"Oh my god, kid. You're hopeless, you know that?" Tim laughed. It was a breathy, nervous little laugh, more suited to when a horrible teacher or a feared doctor made a joke than a conversation with a brother. "Seriously. I thought we'd been through this already. He hurt you. That's not ok. He did it more than once. That's even less ok. Even if he has good days, or weeks, or months, that doesn't change." Tim considered this and didn't disagree exactly but he didn't want to accept it as true.

"It wasn't even that bad," he mumbled. "I don't know why you're making such a fuss" Jason exploded. Tim thought perhaps the frustration had been building for weeks, watching Tim do nothing about the glaring problem and hating that he couldn't do anything to push him along.

"You do this every time, Tim!" he exclaimed. "Someone hurts you and you let it slide and excuse it and say it's not their fault, but it is. Even me! You forgave me for trying to kill you multiple times and I hadn't even apologised for it, Damian too and I know you hated him more and for longer. Bruce. Hurt. You. Several times. On purpose. You have to accept that and stop trying to brush it off because it'll only hurt you more in the long run." Tim tried to respond, tried to explain himself but he could hear Jason calming from his outburst so he stopped to let him continue.

"Look, you always said Batman needs a Robin, right? To keep the darkness at bay and force him to be better? If you keep making excuses for him, if you keep letting him get away with shit, you're failing in your duty as Robin. If you excuse this, you're not making him better, you're letting him fall." Tim huffed. It was a good point, he knew, but he still couldn't quite reconcile Jason's version of Bruce with the guy who took him in when he had no one, who hugged him when he was upset and congratulated him on a job well done.

"You're right, I know. Just… it's hard."

"I know, Tim. I get it. It takes time, yeah? And some days it's easier to see it than others." Jason was so smart. Tim always knew he was his favourite Robin.

"Why are you so good at this?" He heard Jason laugh.

"I'm not, believe me. I was a bit of a mess. Bruce was being an asshole, but he's our dad so it's fine, right? But then I hung around with Roy and Kory for a while and Roy got fed up with me being crazy about the whole thing and made Dinah talk to me. It was… enlightening." Tim hummed consideringly. Dinah was a therapist. Dinah was probably the most qualified person to deal with Jason's issues.

"What did she tell you?" he asked. He was curious but didn't really want to involve her with this whole mess. Or at least no more than she was already involved. They could keep it in the family, avoid the shame that would come on all of them.

"She told me that a lot of what Bruce had done were textbook signs of abuse and if it weren't for the fact that most of them were linked to our night time activities she would have reported him for it years ago. She'd probably tell you the same if you talked to her. It was quite handy actually. She gave me a lot of tips to manage my anger." Tim couldn't talk to her. She was a mandatory reporter. If she thought there was a chance Tim or Damian, still technically minors, were in danger, she would have to tell the authorities. Patient confidentiality did not overturn duty of care - Tim remembered that from Robin training. Tim couldn't let Bruce be ruined like that, couldn't ruin the family like that. All their hard work would go to waste. No more Batman; no more Robin; no more Wayne Enterprises or handy Justice League funding. He couldn't let that happen.

It was weird not having anything to do. He had no open cases, no WE work, nothing from Young Justice, no school. There was only so much lounging around he could do before he went stir crazy. When Alfred left to take Damian to school and run errands, and Bruce left for the office, he made his way down to the cave and worked on some cold cases from years before, lost himself in crime stats and witness reports for hours. He had lunch and spent the afternoon upstairs reading. Jason had recommended him some books when he'd begged him for stimulation and they weren't bad. Classics weren't normally his thing, but Jekyll and Hyde was kind of cool in an antiquated way. He liked the psychological elements and the puns. After a while, he even forgot to keep checking if Bruce was back, his hypervigilance easing a little to something that didn't leave him constantly looking over his shoulder. He felt almost relaxed. Was it bad that that surprised him? It was probably bad. People were supposed to be comfortable in their home, and yet apparently he was only relaxed when Bruce was gone. Book in hand, he ventured to the kitchen for a snack. Alfred had come back at lunchtime and said something about working in the garden, so the kitchen was empty. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid Alfred; it was just that he didn't want to get drawn into a discussion and have to abandon his relaxation and… who was he kidding; he was avoiding Alfred. He wasn't sure why, really: he liked Alfred a lot. But still, he avoided Alfred and made himself a sandwich and got back to the library without getting out of the zone. It was cool. Having a day off was surprisingly refreshing. Maybe he'd be allowed out tonight, or at least in the cave. It totally wasn't like he'd sneak out anyway, even if he wasn't.

Tim was still in the library when Damian came home from school. He listened as the kid stomped up the stairs and dragged his feet along the hallway. Something was wrong. His first thought was still, somehow, 'Bruce will sort it out' but then he remembered his conversation with Dick, how he'd said Tim was a good brother, his conversation with Jason about taking the initiative. He picked up a pack of cards on the way out.

Damian only grumbled when Tim knocked on the door, but he let him in anyway. The kid was curled up by the window, Alfred the cat in his lap. When Tim asked if he wanted to play go fish, he didn't refuse or claim it was idiotic so Tim started dealing. He had a pretty good hand to begin with and asked Damian for his sixes. Damian obliged. They played a round and Tim sacrificed his win just to see the small grin that took over Damian's face. Tim dealt the cards out again.

"So, what had you in a grump this afternoon?" Tim handed over a nine.

"It's really none of your business, Drake."

"Fair enough. Have any aces?" Should he poke more or leave it? Something was clearly bothering him but he didn't want to push too hard too fast. Damian passed over two aces and Tim put down a book.

"How's school going?" The last time he'd stayed at the manor, Alfred was homeschooling Damian because Dick didn't trust him not to snap and attack someone at a public school. Now he was going to Gotham Academy and hadn't been expelled yet.

"Fine. The other students are idiots. Queens, Drake." Well, that was… enlightening.

"Go fish. Have any interesting projects?" Tim asked. He wasn't expecting an answer really, just filling in the silence.

"We have a group project for biology; I can already tell I will be doing all the work. And my social studies teacher wants a personal essay about where we see ourselves in the future."

"Urgh, group projects are the worst. That essay doesn't sound too bad though. What are you going to tell her?" He took Damian's three and put down another book. When he looked up, Damian was biting his lip.

"I don't know," he said and Tim could tell he was being honest. "I have been considering it all afternoon and I am no longer sure of my future plans."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked. He'd thought Damian was the most certain of all of them. Be Batman: that was his plan, had been since he showed up.

"All my life, I have been told I am to be Batman's heir, that I will one day ascend to take his place. Or else, I will take my Grandfather's position as the Demon's Head. But recently I have been thinking and I don't know that that is what I want." That… made a lot of sense actually. Still, it begged the question…

"What would you do instead?" Damian actually cringed, ducked his head and wrung his hands and Tim hurt so badly inside because how did he not see this had been eating the kid up inside?

"Maybe, veterinary medicine? I enjoy being around animals and it is a noble profession. Perhaps if I save lives, it will make up for those I've ruined." Tim wanted to hug him so much. This kid. This poor kid.

"That sounds amazing," he said instead. Giving reassurance was important, right? If he couldn't hug Damian (and given how much he hated to be touched, he didn't think he should) this would at least be acceptable.

"But father would not like it, I think," Damian continued and Tim had never wanted to punch Bruce more than in this moment. What had he done to the kid? He remembered how confident and sure Damian had been with Dick, compared it to the boy before him now, and felt anger coil in his gut.

"I'm sure Bruce would be ecstatic if you found a job that made you happy and didn't put your life at risk. At least, if he's the same Bruce I knew when I was Robin, he would be." He couldn't be certain anymore that his words were true, had to add something. "And even if he's not, you'd have my support and Dick's and probably Jason's and Alfred would definitely prefer it if you didn't get beaten up every other night." He had to chuckle at that and saw Damian's lips quirk upwards in a tight grin. They'd long since abandoned their game, which was a shame because Tim was pretty sure he was winning. This was more important, though.

"I will take that under advisement," Damian responded and God he sounded so formal when he spoke like that. Tim could almost think it was endearing. "I still think that I won't tell father just yet."

"And that's fine. You've still got all the time in the world to decide what to do and who to tell. Hey, why don't you volunteer at an animal shelter in the city? You'd get to be around animals and see how that kind of thing works and it's charity work so I'm sure Bruce would be happy with it so long as he got to do a background check and stuff." Damian considered this for a moment, head tilted slightly before nodding solemnly.

"I will suggest that to father. You're right, it would be a good opportunity." He began piling the cards together and sniffed at Tim's hand. "You would have lost this round, of course." Internally, Tim laughed. Of course.


	5. Chapter 5

An Endless Road to Rediscover

Tim grew up on broken promises and fake apologies. His parents would say 'next time we'll stay longer' then leave after three days, 'I'm sorry your video game got broken but you shouldn't have left it lying around.' Even later, after his parents were both cold in the ground, it was true. 'I promise, I'll always be there' Bruce had said when Tim was just a little fledgling Robin, 'I promise you can always count on me to have your back.' Then he punched Tim, just once in a long line of Bruce-inflicted injuries - accidents all of them - and he died and he chose the mission over Tim, over Damian, over Dick, over Jason and he wasn't there when they all they wanted was a dad, only when what they needed was the Bat. And Bruce hadn't apologised for any of them. He had before, when Tim was smaller, in that half-assed way adults did. 'I'm sorry, but-' 'I'm sorry, but-' over and over only to make the same mistake again two weeks later. He didn't hate Bruce for it. That's just how adults are. Still, he couldn't pretend it didn't hurt when not-apologies turned into no apology at all, when broken promises turned into no guarantees and his support system that was meant to start with Bruce instead included everyone but. And when he lay awake at night, when he had nowhere to go but his own mind, he asked himself 'why me?' 

Bruce said he had to go to the Morrison's party even though he didn't like the Morrisons that much and he liked the glamorous parties and galas even less. The bright lights and flashing cameras hurt his eyes and the tinkling faked laughter and clinking glasses hurt his ears and the press of bodies was too much and his suit scratched him around his throat and cuffs. Parties are uncomfortable and awkward and he was never quite certain he was saying the right things or making the right face at the right times. He knew Damian felt the same. Even so, Bruce had said they must go and so they must go, regardless of Tim's misery and the fact he wasn't even really attached to the Wayne family anymore and hadn't been explicitly invited. He tugged at the collar of his shirt irritably. The glass of champagne in his hand was untouched and he hadn't dared explore the food table. There was no one there that he recognised. Damian had plastered himself to Bruce, probably because Bruce had insisted he stay within eye and earshot after the fiasco the last time Damian had been allowed to wander off at a gala. Tim could see him shifting from foot to foot and twisting his hands behind his back though and kind of wanted to whisk the kid off just so neither of them were bored.

"I hope that isn't champagne I see, young man." Tim turned and plastered a smile back on his face.

"Of course not, Mrs Morrison. I'm not twenty-one yet; that would be illegal." It was quite clear that he was being sarcastic and Mrs Morrison chuckled and shook her head. Tim felt the need to explain himself to her, to clear his name.

"I promise I haven't touched a drop. Just the waiter looked so stressed when he came by, I didn't have the heart to say no." Mrs Morrison cooed and patted his cheek.

"You always did have such a kind heart, Timothy." He blushed and looked at his shoes, which just made her gush more. Why were all the ladies at these parties like this?

"And so humble, too. You're going to make some young girl very happy." He didn't know how to respond to that so he stayed quiet.

"I'm not going to lie, I was surprised to see you here. I heard you had moved away," she said, clearly asking what he was doing here. Luckily, Tim was good at thinking on his feet.

"Oh yeah, Damian called me and asked me to come back. It's Alfred's birthday soon and he wanted to put this big surprise together for him," he replied, scuffing his shoes in that way that Alfred hated. He'd have to let Damian know the cover somehow. "Alfred's the butler," he clarified, "but he practically raised all of us. He's sort of like our grandfather. I'm going back to San Francisco after." Mrs Morrison nodded, still smiling.

"Are you going to college? There are so many good universities in California, even if they're not Ivy League." College snobbery was pretty standard for Gotham's upper crust. Tim knew most of his friends had gone on to Harvard or Yale or Princeton, one or two to MIT. The one person from his graduating class (when they had graduated. Tim had left the year before) who went to Gotham U was considered a black sheep. He knew what colleges people like Mrs Morrison considered 'acceptable', knew what majors were good for him to be thinking about.

"That's the plan," he shrugged affably. "I'm staying with friends at the moment but I'll be going to Stanford in the fall. If they let me in, anyway." Mrs Morrison looked pleased and patted his shoulder.

"What a fantastic choice. I'm so glad. Oh! Hello there, Brucie. I hope you don't mind I stole your boy away from you." Tim turned sharply and sure enough Bruce was there, tilting slightly with an empty glass in his hand. Tim knew it was all an act, that Bruce had probably just tipped the drink into the closest flower pot. It wasn't even a convincing act: Tim had seen right through it from the time he was old enough to go to galas. Still, it seemed to fool people like Mrs Morrison.

"Don' worry about it," Bruce slurred. "This is a fantastic party, Betsy. The drinks are…" he trailed off, waving a hand somewhere above his head. "And the girls… the girls. Tim, you need to get yourself a girl before they're all gone. Snap 'em up while you're young." He nudged Mrs Morrison and they both laughed, Bruce roaring in a full-bellied guffaw, Mrs Morrison awkwardly and hidden behind her hand.

"That must be why you're an eternal bachelor with a constantly expanding brood of kids," Tim mumbled and Bruce laughed even harder, slapping Tim on the back so hard he stumbled forward.

"Stop teasing your old man, Tim. Go leave us old-timers alone and talk to some kids your own age. And go see where your brother got to. I lost him ages ago." Tim sighed and rolled his eyes before walking away to find Damian, pretending he didn't hear Bruce's loud 'kids these days' and Mrs Morrison's nervous giggle. God, how he hated parties. 

By the time he found Damian hiding behind the enormous vase in the corner, it was almost time to go home. He didn't draw any attention to it, just wound his way there in a round-about fashion. Damian didn't notice Tim until he was right there, which was mildly concerning. Damian normally had a situational awareness that bordered on alarming. Still, the kid jumped and turned and Tim saw his eyes were wide and his hands were just about not shaking, but that was more testament to Damian's rigid control than anything else. His hands had been over his ears.

"Is it too loud?" he mouthed and Damian stiffened before dipping his head in a nod. Tim knew that not that long ago, Damian would have defiantly shaken his head and suffered through, now he could admit to Tim things he would have seen as weakness. It was heartwarming in a sad kind of way.

"Do you want to go home?" Damian nodded again and Tim made up his mind. He was fed up; Damian was fed up; it was time to leave. He peeked round the edge of the vase and scanned the room for Bruce. He couldn't see him. Should he go straight to the car and wait? Should he text first? Should he venture out and try to find him? The music got louder, playing some rock sounding thing as more people got drunk enough to start dancing and the skin around Damian's eyes and mouth got tighter and Tim grabbed his hand, marching towards the doors. They were leaving now. Nothing and no one could stop them. Well, except Bruce maybe, but at this point Bruce could suck it. They got to the cloakroom and Tim called Alfred. Bruce had the car keys and Tim didn't want to have to find him in the chaos of the ballroom full of too-rich, too-drunk people. Alfred sighed down the phone but didn't seem surprised and pulled up outside twenty minutes later. Bruce still hadn't materialised. Tim texted him on the journey back so he wouldn't worry, but if Tim's childhood taught him anything it was that Bruce probably wouldn't care or even see the message until morning.

Bruce came back hours later and Tim only knew because he heard him open and shut Damian's door before going to bed. 

He picked up a case that the GCPD were struggling with: a theft from the Gotham museum. Babs dropped the case file straight from the police servers onto his own and he dived into it because it was something he could do apart from whatever Bruce told him to. He could prove to Bruce that he can handle himself (even though he'd been his own hero for years and led his team, Bruce still couldn't deal with Tim being an adult and not the scrawny teenager who begged to be Robin all those years ago). It was a cool case. Some guys stole a mummy from the Egyptian exhibit and the GCPD couldn't figure out how or who. Tim cracked it but he sat on the data instead of passing it immediately to Jim Gordon. The guys who organised it, a group of archaeologists visiting from Egypt, had shipped it off to Cairo to go to the huge museum there. Sometimes the right thing to do wasn't the legal thing to do. Tim could understand that. They were literally vigilantes; they did illegal things in the name of justice every night. So, once the mummy was definitely on its way to Egypt, Tim met commissioner Gordon on the roof of the main precinct to hand over his case file with the information that basically said if they were that invested in having a mummy they should take it up with the Cairo museum because they were going to have it soon. Jim flicked through the file and chuckled.

"Guess I've gotta go talk to the museum curator again, huh, kid?" Tim shrugged apologetically. He hated to make more work for him, but the ends justify the means and all that.

"Do they really need another mummy? Knowing Gotham, it'll come to life one day and start killing people while trailing bandages and moaning like something out of a horror movie." Jim just shook his head and didn't disagree. If Tim didn't know better, he'd say Jim was glad to see him, but that couldn't be right. He'd always hated Batman's need for a Robin, hated the violence and pain that followed them, but he got on well enough with Dick - who'd almost married Babs once - and Jason - who was exactly Jim's kind of rough-and-ready while also being smart and snarky. By the time Tim came around, he was jaded and didn't really get close to the younger members of the batfamily. He respected Tim, sure, as a vigilante and a fighter and a detective, but he didn't see him as family like he did some of the others. Tim didn't mind, normally. He liked the professionalism. But Jim had been going soft recently, according to Damian, ruffling the gremlin's hair and cracking jokes. Now he was laughing at Tim's bad jokes and he didn't know how to deal with that. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Jim Gordon's face.

"Good job, kid." Tim tried not to look too shocked, but he knew he'd failed.

"… Thanks?" he breathed and Jim huffed a laugh.

"I'm glad you're back. Look after yourself now, you hear me?"

"Sure thing, commissioner," he replied, trying for light-heartedness and failing. But Jim laughed as Tim saluted to him and leapt to the next roof. 

Tim had a report due for the museum case and he'd done it but there was too much information running rampant in his head and not enough space in the report and he had to get it out somehow. And Bruce was right there just waiting for him (and Tim knew he was waiting for the report, knew Bruce was busy doing his own casework, knew he didn't need to know) and he just couldn't help himself. Bruce wasn't even looking his way when Tim leaned across the back of the chair and let everything pour out.

"I was researching ancient Egypt and their mummies for the museum case and it's really cool, Bruce, seriously. Like we always assume that all these ancient civilizations were kinda unsanitary and backwards but the way they mummified their corpses was literally designed to get rid of bacteria and insects and it ended up preserving them for thousands of years. Even the most inexpensive methods. The fact that there are so few is solely because of grave robbing and colonialism and that's so cool do you even know how many intact graves from other civilizations at the time exist?"

"You know I'm not listening, right Tim?" Tim paused, took in a breath, and continued.

"Yeah, I know. So anyway, the best method was the most expensive, obviously, and they liquefied the brain and drained it out through the nose which, yuck, but then they'd rinse it with stuff to flush out anything left and kill bacteria. Then they'd take out all the organs and stuff the body with spices and stuff and dehydrate it with salt for forty days so it didn't rot and-"

"Tim. Stop talking." Tim stopped talking. Bruce nodded and went back to typing on the Batcomputer and Tim. Tim wasn't sulking, he wasn't. He was just… confused. Batman liked to know things; he was a detective. But Bruce wasn't listening? He wasn't letting Tim talk, wasn't letting him tell Bruce things, and that was fine! It was, really. Tim talked too much sometimes, he knew, and sometimes he rambled about stuff that wasn't necessary instead of getting to the point (even when the point was actually very important) and he shouldn't just expect Bruce to be okay with that. He knew he was annoying. But Bruce normally listened. Even when Tim was a kid and not even Bruce's kid at that, Bruce had always been happy to let Tim ramble on about whatever struck his fancy, always took it in, always had comments or questions to ask, and honestly? Tim had loved that. The quiet moments where they could just talk without the threat of whatever villain of the week hanging over them about Tim's new video game or the pros and cons of different camera lenses or a movie they'd watched that did something cool. Bruce had changed. He didn't know when it had happened, when active listening had turned to the occasional 'uh huh' or nod had turned to this. He didn't know when Bruce had stopped wanting to get more info about anything he could. But it was fine. Tim could hold his tongue. 

Tim didn't give himself breaks. Tim spent most nights on patrol and most days doing casework. The only time he didn't was when Alfred (or his team) forced him to sleep for once in your goddamn life, Tim. So Tim wasn't going to let anything stop him from patrolling that night, even if he still felt a bit awkward around Bruce after the whole thing about the museum case (he never had got that report filed). When Tim entered the cave, Damian and Bruce were already suited up and Damian was yammering some story to him.

"So then Jon said-"

"Damian. You have told me this story three times already. I know," said Bruce, and Tim saw the shutters come down on Damian's face.

"Oh," he said quietly. "I apologize, father. I was unaware of that. I will leave you to your work." He swept past Tim to the stairwell and Tim felt his blood boil. Bruce was still sitting, typing up a report, completely oblivious.

"Bruce, that wasn't fair."

"What?" He looked up from the screen and Tim tried not to be alarmed by the attention suddenly on him. The cave was empty except for him and Bruce.

"Cutting Damian off like that. It's not fair. He's just a kid," he told him. It was true, really. Damian deserved better, deserved to have someone to listen to him. Bruce just grunted. He wasn't listening to Tim either.

"Look, you were complaining before that the gremlin doesn't share stuff with you. Now he's trying to share and you're not even paying attention." Not even the slightest twitch. Tim sighed. "Whatever. I guess you're too busy for all this, anyway." He turned to walk away. There was training to do and cases to solve and always more people to save, but stopped when he heard Bruce's gravelly voice.

"What do you want me to do, Tim? If you're so in tune with what he needs, what do you suggest?" Tim tried not to look at him with too much shock. This was important; he had to get it right, for Damian's sake.

"Just… just put him first, for once. Put him on top of the pile instead of underneath all the Batman stuff. He's your son. Act like it."

* * *

Tim had just got back upstairs from patrol (and showering and slathering on the bruise cream and checking over his equipment and everything else that needed doing) when he got the phone call. It was Jason and that surprised him for some reason even though it was pretty normal for Jason to call at odd times. He definitely had not been expecting what Jason had to say though.

"Dick remembers stuff.." He sat down on the floor.

"What do you mean 'Dick remembers stuff?'" He asked, slightly hysterically. This was insane. This was absolutely batshit insane.

"Exactly that. He remembers stuff, now. As of… oh, about ten minutes ago. We'd've called earlier but you know, people to beat up and all that. Also, he was unconscious."

"Jason what? What are you… How?" He couldn't put it into words really. It was late. He was tired. Jason had sprung crazy news on him and he was not equipped to deal with it.

"Cognitive recalibration? I don't know, kid but you need to get over here sharp-ish."

"Cognitive…? What?"

"He hit his head really hard. I'll send you the address. Bring Damian." He hung up before Tim could ask anymore questions but his brain had finally fired up and now he had plenty. But there wasn't time. He had to go to Bludhaven, had to get Damian, had to figure out how to get away without letting Bruce know. There was too much to do. He ran up the stairs, through the library, along the corridor of the west wing, burst into Damian's room without knocking which he knew was a bad idea but there wasn't time. He ducked the flying knife.

"We have to go."

"What?"

"Jason called. We have to go meet him and Dick."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Get your shoes." Damian dislodged Alfred the cat and grabbed his trainers. 

They made it out of Gotham and onto the highway before Tim started to break the speed limit. Damian didn't comment on the steadily increasing speed, just curled his legs closer to his chest under the guise of tying his shoelaces. Tim hadn't told him anything, had just got in the car and started driving. Fat drops of rain hit the windscreen and he flicked on the wipers. It would take close to an hour to get to Bludhaven, normally. As the speedometer edged over 120 kmph, he thought it might take less. This late at night, there weren't many cars around, which Tim was thankful for. He could go faster and faster and not worry about other drivers like he had to in Gotham where there were always cars around no matter the hour. He put the car on cruise control and focused on Damian.

"Jason says Dick remembers stuff. I don't know how or why or what he remembers; Jason didn't say. We're headed over now to find out what's going on exactly. Get together and reassess some things. It'll be fine," he told him. It was all he could do, really, to reassure the kid. He had none of the answers, but letting Damian stew over everything that could go wrong was just cruel. Giving him info, any info, was better than nothing at all. Damian said nothing, just let Tim's words wash over him and fiddled with the popper on his jacket. It was a nervous tic, he was sure, but there was nothing he could say to make it better. He turned back to the road and sped up more. When Jason sent him the address for the apartment, he asked Damian to stick it in the GPS for him. The sign said he needed to take the next exit, so he indicated and pulled off to the right. The lights of Bludhaven came into view and he felt Damian sit up in the passenger seat. His face remained impassive, but Tim knew he was cautiously excited. He hoped nothing happened that could ruin that excitement. 

The apartment Jason directed them to was far nicer than Tim had expected. The building had actual security, which in Bludhaven was unusual, and the elevator worked. Jason let them in and led them through to a lounge area where Dick was sprawled on a couch. He sprang up when they entered and his hands fluttered like they did when he was nervous. His mouth opened and closed uncertainly and Tim wanted to touch him, to hug him, but he had to be sure first, had to know.

"What did you say to me the first time we met, when I was six?" It was a personal question, something only Dick would know. Dick looked like he was thinking. Then he answered.

"I told you I'd do a special somersault just for you. We had our picture taken together and you still have it somewhere." Tim sighed in relief. It wasn't some impostor walking around in Dick's skin. This was actually Dick and he actually had his memory back. They sat down together on the couch and Tim looked at him, saw the bruises forming on his face, the ice pack Dick had pressed to the back of his head.

"Do you have a concussion?" he asked

"What does that have to do with-"

Tim interrupted Damian's outburst. "Do you have a concussion? Concussions interfere with memories, especially when they affect the hippocampus, I want to make sure this isn't some weird concussion symptom that'll disappear in a few days." He looked over at Dick. He seemed very overwhelmed by the whole thing, but that was to be expected.

"I don't… I don't think so? I remember what happened and I'm not dizzy or nauseous. Just a headache." That was promising.

"And you remember everything now?"

"I remember a lot. Not sure if it's everything or if I had gaps to begin with. I remember the family, if that's what you mean. I remember Robin and Nightwing and being Batman and I remember being a real dick to you all at least once." he grinned at that and Tim knew he was absolutely aware of the pun.

"How did this even happen?" He was so beyond confused it wasn't funny anymore.

"Court of Owls?" This time it was Jason who answered, although he looked at Dick for confirmation. "Yeah, Court of Owls. They were after him for… reasons. Never did get an answer on why, but oh well. And Dickface here called me thinking it was you and begging for help but I was in the area so I thought I'd stop by. Got there just in time to see him get slammed into a wall like an idiot." Tim frowned.

"Are they going to come after you?" he questioned, alarmed. But Jason just scoffed and waggled his gun.

"Not if they don't want to be on the receiving end of these," he said and laughed. They all relaxed a little more. Damian started talking to Dick about something. Tim caught the name Titus and assumed it was about the dog. Unless it was Shakespeare, but he doubted that. He smiled. It was good to see them all getting along. 

The sun was rising and they needed to get back to Gotham before Bruce woke up, but the conversation was flowing so easily it was like nothing had ever come between them, really. Tim had missed this, missed Dick being his big brother, and he knew Damian had too. Dick had practically been the kid's dad while Bruce was on his time-hopping adventure. They really did have to leave though, and they all knew it. So Tim and Damian stood and pulled on their shoes, and Jason and Dick walked with them to the parking garage where they'd parked the car. Tim fumbled with the keys and turned to say goodbye when the words stuck in his throat because Dick was smiling and Tim had missed that smile so much, the way it was just so unapologetically happy, the way it lit up the room, the way it was contagious and always made everyone else grin no matter how badly their day was going. He smiled back and suddenly Dick was dragging him and Damian into a hug. It was a proper Dick-hug, a full body squeeze that pushed all the air out of his lungs but did he really need to breathe because Dick Grayson was hugging him. He froze, his entire body stiff. It had been awhile since anyone had hugged him like this. Young Justice were great at hugs, super tactile and always draping arms across shoulders and piling together on the too small couch for movie night under a million blankets, but they were friendly hugs, light and short and sweet. This was a Dick-hug, a proper hug that lasted the thirty seconds necessary to release serotonin into the body and then some and he'd spent weeks in Gotham with Bruce being a cold brick wall of no contact. Hugs were a foreign concept to him. Tim burrowed his head into Dick's shoulder, felt Damian relax next to him, and hugged Dick back.

**Author's Note:**

I think there is one chapter left (I know I said that like 3 chapters ago but this time I'm not pretending). There's loads more I could bring up but I know where the plot is going and how it ends and that normally means we're almost there.

If you want updates on how this is all going, or other projects that I will soon have in the works (and there are many) check out my tumblr storm-leviosa-fanfics. I have a tag going for this fic on there which I believe is searchable but tumblr has always been weird and buggy so who knows really.

Anyway, that's about everything. Let me know what you think because, as we've already established, every interaction I have with any of you makes me so stupidly happy but also because I need constructive criticism while I have no seminar leaders to tell me what I'm doing wrong ?


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

So this has actually been finished for a while, and I'm currently in the process of writing a sequel. So I guess sorry for leaving you all hanging. Anyway, here's chapter 6. Hope you all love it!

**The Monster in my Heart and the Monster in Yours.**

The weekend after Dick recovered, Tim went back to San Francisco and his team. He hadn't taken the Batplane, or one of Bruce's fancy cars, or anything like that. He'd flown commercial, in economy, with a backpack full of clothes he'd left behind the last time he'd left in a hurry. Kon met him at the airport, cardboard sign waving above the crowd with 'Our favourite birdbrain' written in bright red letters, covered in glitter. He had no doubt it was Bart's doing. Hiking his backpack up his shoulder, he shoved his way through the crowd and when he saw Kon he let a grin overtake his face. It had only been a few weeks since he left to help Damian, but it felt like a lifetime and he couldn't wait to get home and finally relax.

As he flopped down on the sofa in the lounge area, he felt the tension bleed out of him, from his head all the way to his toes. He hadn't noticed how tense and tight he was until that tension was gone. His jaw ached with how much he'd been clenching it. Still, when he heard the feather-light footsteps behind him, his breath caught in his throat. Staying very still, he listened and felt the footsteps come closer, closer, felt the air tremble as a hand came down, down towards his shoulder. He was so careful not to react to the touch, not to flinch or shudder or even twitch. The world narrowed and all that existed was him and the person behind him and the cushion beneath him. His vision blurred and he froze. Maybe if he stayed still it would be like he didn't exist, like the world would keep moving without him and whoever was touching him would go away and he could breathe again because his chest felt like it was being crushed between two stones and when did he stop breathing?

"Hey, Tim, you good?" It was Kon. Of course it was Kon. He didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to say. He nodded. It was a lie and he knew that Kon knew it was a lie, but it didn't matter because they were all so used to being fine when they're not fine at all. The hand moved from his shoulder. And Tim breathed again. The world came back in full color and he could pick out individual stained fibers on the rug and the dent in the wall from when Bart ran into it blindfolded. Kon sat on the couch next to him and flicked mindlessly through the channels, regaling Tim with some ludicrous tale about an alien? He thought it might be an alien. That had landed in the park and tried to steal them all away to their planet to be zoo exhibits. But Tim hadn't been there and that, somehow, was the only reason they hadn't been stolen away. "The dude wanted the full set, apparently," Kon said with a shrug. Tim tried to laugh in all the right places, tried to respond in the right ways, but he was tired and he really just wanted to sleep for a million years. He could put it down to jet lag, he supposed, or simply being nocturnal like all the Bats seemed to be, but really he just didn't want to deal with people or emotions or the never ending catastrophe that was his life. He leaned his head on Kon's shoulder, forced his muscles to relax and his eyes to flicker closed. Kon nudged him awake and told him to go to bed, which was exactly what Tim wanted him to say, but he sighed as he got to his feet and stumbled towards his room.

He didn't intend to stay, but then that alien Kon had told him about when he was still tuning back into the world and not paying attention came back and they had to escape from his time-travelling zoo halfway across the galaxy. And then there was a mutant sludge monster. And then there was a teleporter who couldn't seem to stabilize enough to stay in one place for more than an hour. What started as just a weekend with friends turned into a week and Tim was exhausted. Once it was all over, and they could sit down for long enough to catch a break, he thought about going back to Gotham but Bart was pulling out the old video games and he hadn't had a night to just relax in ages. They played Mario Kart for hours, shrieking with outrage and laughter in turn. They fell asleep in the dead hours of the morning, slumped against each other on the floor.

Gotham and Damian and Bruce remained at the back of his mind even as he dragged his feet about returning. He hadn't booked his flight, hadn't packed his backpack, hadn't told anyone when he was returning. He could stay, if he wanted. No one would blame him. But Damian was still at home. He'd had this argument with himself a thousand times before and the answer hadn't changed: he had to go back. So with an aching heart, he opened the website and booked a flight back to Gotham for three day's time and ate an obscene amount of junk food that night to console himself.

No one waited for him in arrivals at Gotham airport. No one knew to come. He stepped out the doors and found a bus going towards Bristol, safer than a cab just about, hugging his backpack to his chest. It would take almost an hour to get through to a close enough stop that he could walk to the manor, and that was provided there were no hold-ups en route. He texted Damian and Alfred. Only Alfred replied, but that was pretty standard: Damian only replied if it affected him and this was just Tim coming back to check on him and help sort out all the family drama. It wasn't a major event in his life. He gave up on getting a reply from him so he played around on his phone for the rest of the journey, keeping half an eye on the goings on on the bus. They finally got close, or close-ish, and he stood to leave, walked the rest of the way. It was only a mile or so, not far at all. He wasn't even sweating when he got to the front door. When he rang the bell, Alfred took his coat and didn't hug him but did pat his shoulder, in that restrained but warm Alfred kind of way. He took his bag to his room and avoided leaving it again until dinner. It wasn't until he walked into the kitchen that he realized he forgot to tell Bruce he was coming back. To his credit, Bruce barely reacted at all to Tim's presence, just blinked and returned to his pasta. Damian didn't even look up, just stared at his plate in silence. So, that's how it was going to be. He kept quiet even though the tense clinking of cutlery grated on his ears and the air pressed in from all sides and he would do anything to break that oppressive silence. When the plates were finally cleared, Tim escaped upstairs again. Damian followed, but he didn't talk to Tim at all. It was concerning, but not unusual. He lay on his bed and waited for sleep to come, but it didn't. Night fell and still he stayed awake. He didn't venture to the Batcave, didn't feel like he deserved the space there. The clock ticked on and his eyes stayed open. He heard Damian come back from patrol early, light footsteps on the landing, heard Bruce come up slightly later. He didn't hear Alfred. No one ever heard Alfred.

The morning wasn't much better. Damian still wouldn't talk to him, going so far as to actually turn away from Tim when they met in the corridor. Bruce was absent - at the office, Tim assumed - and wasn't there for his very late breakfast, or lunch, or even dinner. Perhaps he was just avoiding Tim. He'd spent the day out in the garden, helping Alfred with the gardening and wishing for a camera, but now he was in the cave. He'd suited up and was waiting for Bruce to tell him what needed doing. He'd been out of Gotham for over a week and things changed quickly here. But Bruce didn't show. Damian was doing… something. Practicing with his katana, probably, and Tim debated going over to offer to spar. Given how Damian had been acting, he wasn't sure it was a good idea. But he needed to talk to the kid at some point. He just didn't know how. Damian had been acting so weird since he'd been back. Maybe he should talk to Dick about it: he knew the kid best. Honestly, he kind of kept forgetting that going to Dick was an option now, which was depressing as hell. It hadn't even been a year and he'd just forgotten what it was like to have someone to rely on. Dick wasn't here now, though. He squared his shoulders and took a breath, walked towards the sparring mats.

"Hey, Dames. You wanna spar?" Keep it simple, Tim.

"No. I'm busy." Well, that was anticlimactic. He could walk away now; no one would be any the wiser. But he couldn't do that. Whatever it was he'd done to cause problems, to put this rift back between them, he could fix it.

"You sure? I could help you out with that flip you've been struggling with," he said instead. He knew Damian wouldn't appreciate the implication that he was weaker than Tim: it was something he was still touchy about. Tim was just trying to put something out there to connect them again. And Damian was looking pensive. He was considering it.

"Tt. If you insist." That was as close to a 'yes' as Tim would get. He shook out his arms and legs, picked up his bo from the rack, and stepped onto the mat.

They fought quickly, back and forth as if they had done this dance a hundred times before (which they had, of course. They trained against each other before they were ever allowed out in the field). Every time Tim landed a blow, Damian was there to strike at him. Every time Tim let Damian get in close, he backed him up without pause. And Damian tried that flip he'd been struggling with. He landed it, which was an improvement, but it was sloppy and unfinished and Tim was already moving when Damian stumbled, already whirling around with his staff. Tim had a lot of control - he prided himself on it - but even the masters of the bo staff would not be able to stop the end from scraping against Damian's head that was suddenly _right there_. If he was honest, the fact that he hadn't knocked Damian out, the fact he'd been able to slow the strike and angle it just so it hadn't caused significant damage, was impressive. But Damian hadn't been able to dodge entirely and Tim had still hit him and -

"Tim! What are you doing?" Oh shit. Bruce had finally decided to show up at exactly the wrong moment and Tim knew this looked bad, but if he could just explain…

"You're benched. No patrol until I can trust you not to have anymore _accidents_," he said and Tim felt his heart break slightly because this wasn't how it was meant to go. Bruce was meant to listen to him, meant to understand. He was a detective; he wasn't meant to jump to conclusions or make snap judgments.

"What? But…" He trailed off.

"Benched," Bruce insisted, and Tim was angry now.

"You can't bench me," he said incredulously. Tim wasn't Robin anymore, wasn't Bruce's little sidekick. He was a goddamn vigilante, and a detective in his own right. He wasn't beholden to Bruce and his rules. But apparently Bruce disagreed.

"I can and I will. While you operate out of this cave, I'm in charge. Go put your stuff away." Tim put his stuff away. There was no point in arguing with him.

"Oh, and Tim?" Tim turned to look back and wished he hadn't. Bruce's face was grim. "If I see you out anyway, there'll be consequences, understand?"

"But what if you need help?" Damian snorted. Tim didn't like how he'd slipped so easily back into his usual behavior since he'd been gone and it hurt to know that something had happened, but Damian wouldn't tell him what.

"As if we'd need your help, Drake." Was this real? It was like something out of his nightmares. How was this happening when everything had been going not well exactly, but better? It wasn't fair.

"We have other people to help if necessary, better people. Come on, Robin; we've wasted enough time here." Damian scrambled to catch up and Tim couldn't just watch him leave like this, not after getting hit in the head - however lightly. He had to say something.

"Be careful out there, brat," he called and barely saw Damian's slight nod before he was swept out the cave.

He decided to call Dick. Alfred would definitely be a better source of knowledge on everything going on in the manor, but Damian used to talk to Dick more than anyone else. Dick would know what to do. So once he stopped trembling, he scrolled through and pressed Dick's number, on purpose this time. He listened to it ring and ring and ring and almost put it down when Dick finally answered.

"Hey, Timbo. What's up?" He hated to spoil Dick's day when he sounded so happy. Maybe he shouldn't bring up Damian at all, just leave it for another time.

"Nothing much, really. Spent some time with the team last week. That was cool," he told him. It was true enough and pretty innocuous.

"I saw you fighting that sludge monster on the news! Looked exciting." Tim smiled. This was exactly what he needed to settle him, to cheer him up after the incident with Bruce.

"Yeah it was pretty cool. It was nice to get the whole gang back together. I can't wait to go back, Dick, god I missed them while I was in Gotham." Dick laughed and Tim tried not to be offended because he hadn't told Dick how weird everything was, he didn't know.

"I know the feeling," he said ruefully and Tim let a smile slip free. What he wouldn't give to continue this conversation, just keep on talking about nothing in particular.

"Hey, have you talked to Damian since last week?" He could almost hear the cogs turning in Dick's brain as he thought back to when he'd spoken to Damian last.

"You know, I don't think I have. Why? Is something wrong?" And now he'd made him worry. Stupid Tim, ruining people's day.

"No, I'm sure he's fine just… he's been acting kind of weird and Bruce dragged him out on patrol without checking him and I'm kinda worried but I'm sure it's fine. He's probably fine. He's tough and it's not like it's unusual for him to be snappish and rude, especially to me. But he'd been so much better recently. I guess it just took me by surprise, that's all." Once he started it was like he couldn't stop, everything pouring out of him and he wasn't even sure Dick would understand what he was saying but he had to try and the words just kept going and going. But Dick seemed to have gotten caught up on one detail Tim had forgotten he'd even mentioned.

"Is he injured?" And of course that was Dick's concern.

"I don't know? I don't think so but we were sparring and I caught his head by accident and then Bruce was there and he benched me and then dragged Damian out on patrol before I could check he was ok but he looked fine." He wasn't sure if he was doing a good job reassuring Dick.

"Ok, ok, that's fine. Do you want me to call him later?" Bless Dick and his knack for staying calm. Tim was right to call him, he could see that now. Dick always had a plan. They hashed out the details, agreeing Dick should call in the morning, once Bruce was at work and Damian doing whatever Damian usually did during the day. When Tim eventually hung up, he felt much better and when, hours later, Dick texted him with a reassurance that Damian was ok, that Tim hadn't really hurt him, he was even happier.

Dick did call him the next day, when Bruce was out doing something (and Tim tried not to be hurt by Bruce ignoring him and purposely keeping him out of the loop), about Damian and the conversation they'd had. Damian was fine physically, he said, but Tim was right: there was something weird going on. Damian had been distant, according to Dick, and it was weird because he was used to Damian being relatively affectionate even if he tried to hide it. It was the same as with Tim, he noted. In the week since Dick had got his memory back and Tim had left for San Francisco, he'd had almost a complete personality switch: back to the testy, angry kid that he'd been back when he'd first shown up. Dick didn't have any answers about what had happened. Tim knew that would grate on him until he found out, but he didn't really want to ask anyone, let alone Damian. It must have been something to do with Bruce. That was the only explanation. He had to get Damian away.

Tim knew how to get parents charged with child abuse. He'd dealt with so many cases before that the process was almost automatic by now. It was a long process, arduous and hard - especially if there was no other family, especially with Gotham's overwrought child protection services - and he'd done none of it for him and Damian. He'd taken no pictures, recorded no conversations, told no one outside of Dick and Jason what was going on. And that was a problem. It was essentially their word against _Bruce Wayne's_ and Tim might be old Gotham blood, might be genetically a Drake, but that didn't hold a candle to Bruce's wealth and influence. They couldn't go to court. The scandal would destroy everything they'd fought so hard for. They'd have to be clever, sneaky, conniving. Luckily, that was what Tim was good at.

It was a rare sunny day and Tim decided to put his plan into action. He begged a picnic hamper off Alfred, who was happy to oblige, then set off in search of Damian. The grounds were more than large enough to spend all day exploring and walking Titus while remaining out of eye and earshot of the house (although he conveniently ignored that when he asked if Damian wanted to 'walk the dog and have a picnic, as it's nice out.') Damian agreed and it surprised him even though it shouldn't: Damian would do anything for his pets and it really was far too beautiful a day to stay cooped up inside. They took the wooded path, Titus bounding along ahead of them and sniffing at every strange looking plant. The light filtered through the leaves and it was so gorgeous Tim longed for his camera. They walked in silence, listening to the birds chirping and the woodland creatures rustling. Damian occasionally had to call to get Titus's attention, but it wasn't often enough to be annoying. They found a clearing with a small stream to dangle their feet in so they stopped for their picnic even though it was still quite early for lunch. Tim was happy to put down the basket. He'd never admit it to Damian, but it was a heavy, unwieldy thing and his arms felt like they might fall off, not to mention the bruise he could feel growing on his thigh from where it kept hitting him. He took out the bottle of lemonade but ignored the sandwiches for the time being. Damian was watching Titus with a contented smile. It made him look young. Of course, Tim had known Damian was just a kid - he barely came up to Tim's chest - but he always acted so mature, like a mini-adult, that he forgot how small he was.

"You want lemonade?" he asked, "Alfred made it fresh." Damian held out a hand so Tim passed over a glass. They stayed silent and watched Titus play, feeling the fish nibble at their toes. "I wish I had my camera," Tim laughed, as he watched the dog roll delightedly in the long grass. Damian sniffed, the smile gone from his face and replaced with something serious. Tim didn't know what he was thinking, didn't know how to begin the conversation that he knew they had to have.

"Grayson called me," Damian said and oh look, guess Tim didn't have to start the conversation after all. "He wanted to know how father was treating us, if I was safe and happy."

"And what did you tell him?" Tim asked. He already knew, or at least had some kind of idea, but Damian didn't know that.

"I told him all was well, obviously," he snapped. But then he sighed and stared into the water and Tim knew that it was a lie: that all was not well and Damian was obviously beating himself up over it.

"All is not well," he said and Tim had known but it still made his heart clench. "It… I… Sometimes I wish that father was not my father and I lived with Grayson instead." It all came out in a rush, like he was ashamed of it, and Tim couldn't blame him really because that was a big thing to admit to someone that he'd hated until pretty recently. He nodded.

"Yeah, I get it," he replied. And he did. He really did. Dick was a great brother and he could see how much good he'd done for Damian while he was Batman, how much Damian trusted him, how little Damian trusted Bruce in return.

"Isn't it terrible that sometimes I wish you had never brought father back?" Tim thought for a moment: this was important; he couldn't break Damian's trust.

"No, Damian, it's not terrible. He treated you badly and wishing he wasn't here to do it is a valid response."

"But he's father. And you worked so hard to save him," he replied, and Tim wanted to hug him, to hold him close until he realized how much he appreciated the care.

"Sometimes fathers aren't good for their kids. And the kids deserve better, even you, Damian. Especially you. And besides, he wasn't so bad back then, anyway; he deserved to be found and have a chance to be with his family."

"That includes you," Damian broke in.

"What?"

"You keep excluding yourself but you're family too, Timothy." Tim had never suffered from hayfever before but what other explanation could there be for the sudden wetness in his eyes?

Dick was moving. He'd been staying in a seedy hotel with Jason for the past few weeks, just to make sure he didn't relapse into amnesia, but that set-up couldn't last forever and he needed to sort out his life. Tim was happy for him, he really was, but when he remembered the conversation, it always felt like there was a tangled knot of something caught up in his chest. Because Dick was moving out of Bludhaven, further from Gotham, and Tim hadn't realized how much he relied on his older brothers until they were both too far away to help at short notice. It didn't matter that, hopefully, he'd also be moving out of Gotham and back to San Francisco permanently soon; it felt like the end of something and Tim had always hated saying goodbye. He wanted help packing up his few belongings, so Tim drove over while Damian was at school. Dick had told him to tell Alfred, even though Alfred already knew, and he'd agreed to cover for Tim, should Bruce come home early and ask where he was.

It was just Tim and Dick in the hotel room, folding and rolling clothes to stick in Dick's ancient duffel bag. Tim found it quite relaxing; the repetitive movements quietened his mind and let him think. He hadn't asked why Dick had decided to move, but Dick seemed to guess that he wanted to know.

"I think this will be good for me," he said. "A fresh start. So much of my identity is wrapped up in the Mission: Robin, Nightwing, even being a cop. It'll be nice to go out and find something new." Tim rolled up another t-shirt, jammed it in the bag.

"Why New York?" he asked and Dick grinned at him.

"I had a good thing going there back in the day, with the Titans. Seemed as good a place to start as any. I'll do some charity work maybe, use some of that trust fund Bruce set up when I was a kid, figure myself out." It made sense and Tim would worry because he always worried, but if anyone could make it work, it'd be Dick. The guy was like a cat, always landing on his feet. Still…

"I'll miss you," he said and it was true even if it barely brushed the surface of Tim's feelings but Dick swept him up into another of those brilliant patented Dick-hugs that Tim hadn't had the chance to get fully used to yet.

"I know, Tim. But hey, you can visit whenever you like, ok? And Damian, too. You tell him that from me." He hadn't even thought about Damian. Maybe that was selfish of him but he'd been so wrapped up in Dick leaving and how miserable he was about it he'd forgotten Dick was Damian's favourite brother. He laughed, but it was small and bitter.

"I'll wait for you to settle in before I palm him off to you." Dick's smile was strained and Tim knew it was his fault. They were still skirting around the massive elephant in the room.

"You're both welcome any time, I promise. Just call me and I'll figure it out. What kind of brother would I be if I let you two suffer, anyway?" Tim hated that he'd put that pressure back on him. Dick was meant to be leaving to figure out who he was outside of the capes and their crazy vigilante family, not get constantly reminded of it by Tim being a baby who couldn't cope with a few mean words slung his way.

"I'm sure we can handle it," he said firmly. A lie. But Tim was good at lying; he'd lied to Batman and gotten away with it. Lying to Dick was nothing in comparison.

"If you're sure. But remember, I am literally a phone call away. Don't put it off because you don't want to 'bother me' or anything like that." If it had been anyone else, Tim wouldn't have believed it, but it was Dick. Dick cared so much and so deeply, Tim knew he meant it.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm Not Your Ghost Anymore**

It was well after when Alfred normally left to collect Damian from school and yet he was still in the kitchen, with what looked like the entire spice rack laid out on the countertop. Tim checked his watch: 4:30pm, far later than the normal time for school kids to get home. He asked Alfred where they were.

"Master Bruce insisted he be the one to collect Master Damian this afternoon," he answered, and Tim felt a chill run through him. There was no reason for it, but still something felt wrong about the situation. "He also," Alfred continued, "requested that I make Master Damian's favourites for dinner this evening. I hope that is agreeable." It couldn't be anything too bad then, if Damian was getting his favourite foods.

"That's good," he responded, distractedly. "So he's been nice? Better than normal?" He wasn't sure what he was asking, but Alfred seemed to get it.

"He's been… manageable," Alfred told him, and stirred whatever delicious thing was cooking on the stove. "Master Bruce is not always an easy man to live with or understand. I do believe that with some patience and guidance he will recover from whatever grief he is suffering and return to how he used to be." It didn't sit quite right with Tim. He remembered what Bruce used to be like, in the days when he was Robin and they'd been happy, but only barely. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"We can't keep excusing him, though, Alfred," he said. "It's dangerous to all of us." Alfred nodded sadly, and Tim hated himself for even talking about this.

"Forgive an old man for wanting his family together and happy, Master Tim. At least give him one more chance."

"I have been," Tim snapped, then calmed himself. Getting angry wouldn't help. "I think part of me would always give him another chance, every time, but we have to draw the line somewhere. If he hits anyone, if he so much as raises a hand to Damian, I'm leaving and I'll drag Damian with me kicking and screaming if I have to. I can't leave him somewhere he's not safe, Alfred, I can't." He leant on the counter and buried his head in his hands so he wouldn't have to see Alfred's face. When Alfred's hand landed on his shoulder, he looked up and Alfred's face was as grave and lined and ancient looking as Tim had ever seen it.

"My boy, if it comes to that, I would do anything to make sure you got away." Was he crying? He was sure he hadn't imagined the gleam of tears in his eyes. And now Tim was crying too.

"If it comes to that, we'd want you to come with us," he choked out, and Alfred smiled slightly. It was a brittle thing, weak and cracked, but it was there.

"I'm more than capable of looking after myself, Master Tim. You don't have to worry about me. And besides, someone has to keep Master Bruce from burning the house down." They laughed and Tim hugged Alfred as he straightened back up.

"He doesn't deserve you, Alfred." Alfred chuckled, and the smile he gave Tim felt like a warm hug.

Soon after, he was helping with the cooking, though "helping" was probably a bit of a stretch when Alfred barely trusted him to slice vegetables without chopping a finger off. Dinner was almost ready when he heard Damian and Bruce get home. Damian was practically bouncing and it made Tim grin that he was so excited. Bruce followed in behind, more sedate but also smiling that soft smile Tim remembered from when any of them did something particularly well. He had a piece of paper in one hand and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of the Colosseum (courtesy of Dick, he was sure). A math test stared back at them with a bright red A+ in one corner, 100% written underneath. That must be why they were celebrating. Damian was babbling at him and he tuned back in just in time to catch that the ice cream shop had reopened. He almost asked which one before he remembered that to Damian there was only one: the shop Dick took them to after a good patrol, or a hard patrol, or any excuse really. It had been closed for repairs for the past few months, but now apparently it was open again and better than ever. Damian was so excited. He was telling Tim all about the pistachio and rose ice cream the shop had just started making and how it reminded him of home and how could Tim even have considered taking that away from him? How could Tim look at Bruce, smiling, and Damian, grinning from ear to ear, and think Bruce could hurt him? And then Damian saw the food on the stove and smiled wider, as if that were possible, and Bruce put a hand on Tim's shoulder and asked 'how was your day, son?' just like he used to and Tim felt like he had somehow slipped into a parallel universe where everything was okay. They sat and they ate and the food was amazing because it was Alfred's. They watched a movie in the lounge that Damian had never seen and discussed it like adults and like children - the bits they liked and the bits they didn't; the bits done well and the bits that were problematic. They went down to the cave and Bruce gave Tim a case to help on before he put on his costume. It was all so normal and Tim didn't understand it at all. While Bruce changed and checked over all their equipment, Tim sat next to Damian and nudged him with his shoulder.

"Good day?" he asked, and Damian smiled slightly.

"Very."

Bruce's good mood lasted a day, two days, a week, but Tim kept on his toes, anyway. He spoke to Dick, who'd set himself up pretty quickly at a community gym teaching gymnastics classes to kids. Dick was happy, but Damian hadn't spoken to him and he was more concerned than Tim when he was told Bruce was probably checking his phone and not to worry about it. It was invasive, sure, but not anywhere near as bad as some other measures Bruce had taken in the past. He made sure to only talk to Dick when Bruce was out. Dick's recovered memory was a secret to all but them.

It was not until his weekly video call with the team that he came to a realisation. Bart had asked why he kept going back to Gotham, despite always saying he was leaving for good. He kept getting dragged back in, kept getting distracted by cases and petty things said to him and Bruce and other disasters. He owed it to them, his family, to stick around, he told his team.

"You don't owe them shit," Kon told him, and the others nodded in agreement. "All those times you almost died for them, or because of them, you've paid back any debt you think you owe a hundred times over already." Tim heard him, listened, took it in, and didn't believe him. He knew they could see it on his face, had displayed it purposely.

"Look, I have no clue what's been going on in Gotham, okay? But, Tim, you deserve to be happy. If being in Gotham with the Bats makes you happy, well then we'll support you; but if it doesn't, you can leave. You'll always have a place here with us, if you want it," Cassie said. She hadn't spoken much until that moment, but that made it all the more meaningful. He scrunched up his nose and laughed.

"This got so depressing. Let's talk about something else." The others took the bait, and wow was he glad they didn't push the issue.

They went on patrol, all together for once, and it wasn't because they were working the same case, or because there was an Arkham breakout or anything. It was just good quality family time. They bantered and ran races and stopped for fries, and it was the best time Tim had had on patrol in ages. Bruce was being nice. It shouldn't have felt weird; Tim used to be used to this kind of behaviour, used to be used to Bruce being a good dad. But sitting next to him on a rooftop felt strange, poking fun at him with Damian felt like a disaster waiting to happen. Except… nothing happened. It wasn't until after midnight that they got the call about the fire.

A whole apartment building going up in flames was unusual even for Gotham standards, and it had drawn a crowd. Crowds weren't helpful. Crowds stopped them from getting through, put more people in danger. Normally, when an incident drew a crowd, Tim and Damian were put on crowd-control until the GCPD arrived, but the GCPD were already there, as were the fire department. All they really had to do was help people trapped in the building get out. Bruce went alone, of course, and told Tim and Damian to stick together, to stay on the comms, to keep their re-breathers on to filter smoke. They ventured in.

Immediately, visibility was terrible. Tim could see maybe five feet ahead of him and switched to thermal imaging. Bruce had grappled up to the top of the building and was already searching apartments, had found a woman trapped in her bathroom. Damian and Tim were falling behind in a competition they didn't even know had started. They entered the first apartment, called out the prepared script for finding people at risk, heard nothing. A quick sweep of the apartment found it empty, so they moved on. They split up in spite of Bruce's orders, so they could search more efficiently and cleared the first floor that way. On the third floor, they found a mum and her kid sheltered in the wardrobe against the fire and smoke. The kid was wrapped tightly in a blanket, pressed up against their mother's chest. Said mother was coughing through a t-shirt and weakly banged her fist on the wood when she heard Tim call. Reluctantly, she passed the kid over to Damian to swing out to the emergency services. The ceiling creaked and they all stared at it, nervously. The flames were still roaring, still sweltering, still burning through the building uncontained. Tim held out a hand to the woman. They needed to get out. Now.

Damian returned, minus the kid, and they started to set up something to support the woman on her way down because none of them were strong enough to carry a woman who probably weighed more than they did combined. They ignored the crackling fire, the creaking, groaning building, the suffocating smoke. They ignored Bruce in their ears. Tim finally finished their pulley system to get the woman out safely and set her off. He watched carefully as she reached the ground, hurried to the next room. The doorknobs were hot even through his gloves, and he could hear someone screaming from within. He had barely closed the door behind him when he heard the ceiling give one last ominous groan and begin to crumble.

"Damian!" he screamed, and launched himself at him, covering them with his cape just as the building finally collapsed.

Bruce barely waited for him to wake up before he started chewing him out.

"You were stupid, Tim." Well, that was a great start.

"I followed protocol. Exactly how you taught me." Talking hurt. His throat felt like sandpaper.

"You put yourself in danger. You put Robin in danger. That is unacceptable," Bruce continued.

"Danger's in the job description," he tried for levity. It fell flat. Bruce was still an impassive, cold, mask.

"You almost died!" Bruce yelled, "Damian almost died! And for what? I person who died on his way to hospital, anyway. I told you to get out. I expect you to listen to me." Tim stayed silent. It was better to let Bruce get it all out of his system, let him yell until he stopped.

"You're lucky that man died," Bruce whispered, and Tim felt an ice-cold hand grip his heart, "because if that man lived, he could have found out everything. You put your life at risk, Damian's life at risk, our identities at risk. One word. One name. That's all it takes. You should know this better than anyone." Tim shrank as much as he could in his bed. It wasn't a lot.

"Our job is to save people. I couldn't just leave someone behind who needed help. And Damian would say the same if you asked, I'm sure." He wasn't sure, or hadn't been before, but Damian had grown so much, was so caring and kind, and he knew he was right. Bruce snorted. He wasn't sure why because this was what he'd taught Tim all those years ago. Except it wasn't that long ago, really.

"Get up," Bruce told him. "You're well enough to go back upstairs. Go put some comfy clothes on." Was that it? He was used to more of a fight now.

"Is Damian… okay?" he asked and Bruce stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"He's fine, no thanks to you." There were eyes on him and when he turned, it was Damian standing by the stairwell in his pajamas.

"It wasn't Drake's fault, father," Damian added, and oh god no Damian couldn't get involved.

"I thought I told you to go upstairs, Damian?" That was Bruce's warning tone. Tim hoped the kid went upstairs, prayed to any god he didn't believe in, but Damian didn't budge. He actually stepped closer.

"Bruce, we followed what you taught us. What happened was a freak accident; they happen." It was true, of course, but Tim knew that Bruce wouldn't accept it and that was exactly why he said it. If he could distract Bruce, Damian would get out of this unscathed because Tim knew how this conversation was going. He could see the signs, could feel the tension rising. A storm was coming and Damian absolutely could not be here when it hit. If only he were telepathic like the martians, he could tell Damian that without making a sound.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to teach you again," he said, and it sounded like Tim had got off easy. But Tim knew better. He knew this was just the tip of the iceberg. "If you think my teaching got you into this mess." There was something dangerous in his voice, something dark and angry. "Everything I taught you was to protect you. I taught you how to get out of these situations, not into them. No, Tim. This was all you." He stepped closer and Tim took a step back. Damian took a step closer, too, and Tim wanted to scream. "If you had only followed my instructions, you wouldn't have been in the building when it collapsed, Damian would have been safe outside, you never would have called out to him, never would have shouted his name, you wouldn't have almost died, neither would Damian. So explain to me exactly how it is my fault this happened." Tim gulped.

"Batman and Robin save people," he began. "If we turn away from someone, if we let them die, then that's on us. We have a duty to people, to save them, to put ourselves in danger to do it, sometimes. You told me that. This isn't your fault, but it isn't our fault either. It comes with the job and if you aren't willing to accept that then maybe you should hang up your cape." It was a bold statement and he knew Bruce would hate it, but maybe it would shock him enough to get him to back off and -

That was a slap. Why was there a slapping sound? Nothing hurt. He couldn't feel the sting of a hand, the recoil, the twist of his face. Why - Damian.

To his credit, Bruce looked horrified. But Damian was standing between them, tall and firm, with his face still turned slightly. Tim was close enough that he could feel Damian trembling slightly, could feel his clenched fists and coiled muscles. Could feel his panting breaths. Tim stepped to the side, around Damian, and faced Bruce. he couldn't let this continue.

"Damian, go upstairs, please." He knew his voice was ice cold, but he didn't care. Damian obeyed him. Bruce stared at his hands as if he couldn't believe what he'd done, but he'd done it before, he'd do it again. Tim knew that now. He understood.

"We are going to leave," he told Bruce. "You are not going to stop us. This can't keep happening." Bruce didn't nod, didn't say a word, didn't give any indication that he'd heard him. "This ends now, Bruce. No more. No more Robin; no more kids in danger." That got his attention.

"Batman always has a Robin," was Bruce's eloquent response. "Batman needs a Robin. You taught me that, Tim." Tim cringed. Of course Bruce would use his words against him, words said in the heat of the moment, when he was young and immature and didn't know anything at all.

"Perhaps he did. But Batman shouldn't need a Robin and he definitely doesn't deserve one."

It was time to leave.

He told Damian to pack a bag with everything he needed and Damian complied. It wasn't like him and Tim knew he'd have to deal with that, but for now he had phone calls to make. He shot a text to his team. They deserved to know. He stepped into his room to call Dick. His hands shook slightly as he pressed on his number, as he held the phone to his ear, but they stopped when Dick picked up.

"Remember how you said we were welcome whenever?" he began and heard Dick's breath catch.

"I'll get the sofa ready. Is it both of you or…" he tailed off and Tim filled him in. Dick definitely needed to know. When he finished, Dick was silent.

"Shit," he murmured, and Tim snorted. The sentiment was shared. He shoved the last remnants of his stuff into his backpack and went back to Damian's room.

"What should I do with Titus and Alfred," he asked, and Tim stopped. Did Dick's apartment allow pets? He doubted it, especially a great dane.

"I think you might have to leave them here, Dames," he told him gently and hated tears he saw welling in the kid's eyes. "We're going to stay with Dick. I don't think they allow pets in his building but I'm sure Alfred will take great care of them and maybe you and Dick can find out if they can make an exception and get them back." It didn't help. Damian's hand stroked Titus's head so softly, so sadly. This was their goodbye. He picked up Damian's bag, left him to give the dog one last hug. Alfred was on the stairs and Tim gave him a nod. They had an understanding, after all. He put the bags in the car and by the time he got back inside, Damian was on the stairs. And so was Bruce. He started to run.

"You can't just leave," he heard Bruce saying. "You're my son. Mine." And there was that trademarked Damian 'tut' of derision.

"Father, I belong to no one."

Tim could have cheered when Damian swept past Bruce to where Tim stood in the doorway. Instead, he ruffled his hair and hissed as they shut the door on the manor for the last time: "Good job, kid."

Dick's apartment was small but cosy, and Tim stayed there for three days. It was a bit of a mess, in true Dick style, but it was such a change of pace it felt wonderful. Less cluttered and more… fulfilled. When Dick went to work, Tim and Damian explored the local area, went out for lunch at cafe's and food stands, walked in parks and down back alleys. And Damian never complained, never mentioned Bruce, never mentioned Robin. It was concerning. Dick promised him he'd get Damian to go to therapy, or talk to someone anyway, which was probably the best he could hope for. He also told Tim he'd get a bigger apartment, so they didn't have to sleep on the sofa. Tim wouldn't be there when that happened. After those three days, he booked a ticket back to San Francisco.

He told his friends everything: the first incident, when Bruce had punched him, when he finally realised something was not right, the kid he'd rescued, Jason, Dick and his memory, protecting Damian, when they finally decided to leave. The words poured out and he was so, so grateful for his team because they just listened. They let him talk and talk and talk for hours until their food had gone cold and the sun had long since set. And then they hugged him long and hard.

"Movie night?" he asked, and they agreed.

Tim had settled back into life at the tower as if he'd never left. They fought aliens and whatever multiversal rubbish got chucked their way with all the enthusiasm they could muster. Which was no small amount. They played a lot of video games. Sometimes they still had movie night, when they'd had a rough day. They did video calls with Dick and Damian (and Alfred. They'd moved to a new apartment that was honestly huge and somehow persuaded Alfred to move out with them and be a proper family. They looked so happy, and that made Tim happy). Life was relatively normal, or as normal as it ever got for them. They forgot to screen phone calls. How Tim had forgotten to block Bruce's number was anyone's guess, but somehow he got the call through and Tim picked up without even thinking about it.

"Are you happy, now?" That was Bruce? Why was Bruce calling? Tim gaped for a good five seconds before coherence returned to him enough to respond.

"What?" Great job, Tim. Way to make him think you're a functional human being.

"Are you happy now? You've taken my son, my allies, my family, even Alfred. Are you satisfied?" Error 404, page not found because what the actual fuck was Bruce trying to tell him? He hung up the phone. It rang again. He picked up because he was an idiot, apparently.

"How dare you pick up on me, you-" he hung up again. This time he blocked the number. It really wasn't worth it.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The office was warm. Not uncomfortably so, but in late September it was kind of weird to have the heating on. He thought maybe it was this warm on purpose. The armchair had a woolen blanket over the back and more cushions than he knew what to do with and he'd much rather it was in the corner, facing the door so he could see the entrances and exits but he was also pretty sure it was considered rude to move it so he just sat. He just sat and stuck his hands between his knees so he couldn't fidget and tried to avoid leaning back into the cushions (he wasn't sure he'd ever escape them if he did).

He heard the door click shut and lock, felt Dr Ross's footsteps behind him, move around to in front of him, and she sat in a matching armchair opposite his. His eyes flicked to the window. He was on the ground floor so he could just jump if he had to: he could see the plaza outside, the tree, the other students eating lunch, but there were plants on the windowsill - a few succulents and, fittingly, a small pot of lavender - so he couldn't do that. She was rustling papers and he wondered when she got them because they weren't in her hand when he shook it outside and he hadn't noticed her go to the desk. Focus, Tim. Take in the room, what do you see. Everything about the office was designed to be neutral but also warm, cream walls, wooden desk, cushy chairs, the plants. There was even a photo frame on her desk, turned away from Tim, but it either had a wedding or baby picture, whichever was more recent, and an unlit stick of incense. To Tim's right was a low table with a coaster and a box of kleenex. He had to stifle a snort: he wasn't going to cry. All this, he realised in the seconds it took for Dr Ross to organise her papers and pay closer attention to him. He thought she probably had half an eye on him the whole time, though.

When he'd first signed up for this (on a whim and not because Kon and Bart and Cassie ganged up on him, definitely not because Dick and Jason suggested it), and first got the email with his appointment slot, he'd looked her up, done all the research he was meant to do for cases. He knew more about her life than her colleagues, probably. It had been an effort, but Tim was happy to do it. It was logical to know what he was signing up for, and who with. Honestly, he'd considered going to Dinah at first, because she knew about the cape business, about Robin and Gotham and the unique brand of crazy that was his life. But she knew Bruce, worked with the League, and even though he knew about patient confidentiality, he didn't quite trust her not to rag on Bruce next time she saw him. A stranger was better. A stranger didn't know anything about him, had no preconceptions, no prejudices, no allegiances. Except. Yeah, he definitely hadn't thought this through. What was he meant to say? How much could he tell this woman about their life without ruining everything they'd worked for? Could he out the entire family? Should he keep quiet? He'd always been good at mental gymnastics, at avoiding the elephant in the room that was crushing him, but could he skirt around it, keep track of all the lying he'd have to do? And now he was here, and thinking about it far too late, and he didn't know what to do but he'd have to think of something because she was going to ask him questions soon, once she'd read his questionnaire, which now she had.

"So, Tim," she began and he felt his heart pound. This was like high school parent-teacher conferences all over again. Her eyes on him, taking in his every move, her ears listening to him speak. Could she hear his heart thumping? Could she hear his thoughts? "Let's start with why you're here."

He took a breath, steadied himself, and began to speak.

**Author's Note:**

And that's it. That's the end. I really hope you enjoyed this story. It was certainly a learning curve for me. I could do the whole 'massive long end note' thing that I did when I posted this on AO3, but I don't think it's really appropriate here so, to summarise:

\- I love you all. Everyone's who's read and interacted with this story is amazing and deserves the world.

\- I have had so many realisations as a result of this fic so if you resonate with anything that has happened within the story, please consider seeking help because it is possible that you too are a victim of abuse.

\- This is now officially a fix-it fic.

\- There are resources to help you with abuse or domestic violence or mental health issues on my tumblr ( storm-leviosa-fanfics) if you need them.

\- If you ever want to talk, send me a message and I'll try and get back to you.

So that's everything. Please leave a review if you liked it, or just want to let me know your thoughts.


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